


i'll make this feel like home

by g_uttertrash



Series: domestic monsters [7]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Ghosts, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Mild Kink, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Vampire Louis, Werewolf Niall, Witch Harry, like....seriously a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 03:16:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 42,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6313270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_uttertrash/pseuds/g_uttertrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's St. Patrick's Day at the house in Greater Gloomingshire....in September. </p><p>(Liam's "secret" is revealed, Zayn returns, Niall eats some cupcakes, while Harry and Louis both have to face the past - and the future.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hello from the other side

**Author's Note:**

> happy st. patrick's day??? except i'm LATE, as usual. first: i got distracted today and haven't actually finished this update but i promised SO it's going to be another chaptered one, i'll finish it and get the rest of it up asap (it's literally just a page or two away from being done, i swear)!! thank you all so, so much for the comments and kudos and recs and for dropping me messages on tumblr, you're all wonderful and i honestly can't believe how patient you are!! you're the best and the reason i manage to pull myself up and keep writing, so thank you <3 
> 
> okay and on a more serious note: i was going through a hard time over the last couple months when i wrote this and it kind of evolved into this cathartic thing to write about. i mentioned on tumblr for those of you who follow me there that there's some angst in this chapter. some of it is here in this chapter. to be clear, there are mentions of **depression** and **suicide**. it's not extreme but i've tagged it just in case and wanted to let everyone know. 
> 
> playlist is [here](http://8tracks.com/g-uttertrash/domestic-monsters) if you want, whole idea is based loosely on [this](http://moniquill.tumblr.com/post/66494076079/necrotype-domestic-monsters-the-witch) post, and (as always) the title is from one direction's "home"

_September_

Harry cracks one eye open, listening intently. Shoving off his blankets, he starts to let his feet slide to the ground before he stops, hovering over the wood floor. Floating through the air, he goes to the bedroom door, peering out the crack. He can see shadows, flutters of movement beyond the sitting room in the kitchen; the kettle is whistling on the stove. He frowns slightly, biting his lip.

Slowly, he reaches for the door, pulling it open. It creaks, the way it always does, and he winces. He glances at the kitchen. Nothing. Slipping out through the small space, he floats into the hallway, eyes on his feet to ensure one of his toes doesn’t even _remotely_ brush the ground.

He’s almost to the staircase when a voice trills, “You should be in bed, Harold.”

Harry makes a face. He drops to the ground as Louis swings into view, holding a steaming cuppa. “What was it? The door creaking?” he asks.

Louis grins, shaking his head. “Believe it or not, it was your eyes opening. Your eyelashes make this tiny little musical sound—almost like a chime—”

“Unbelievable,” Harry mutters, rolling his eyes. “This is what I get for dating a fucking _vampire_.”

“Yes, it is. Now, this vampire’s going to bite you if you don’t get back in bed this instant.” He says it so cheerfully, so matter-of-fact, that Harry is swamped with the urge to stomp his foot and pout. 

“You wouldn’t dare. Not when I’m so,” he flutters his eyelashes, holding the back of his hand to his forehead, “frail and weak.” He snorts out a laugh, letting his hand fall back to his side. “Louis, all this is so unnecessary. I’m not some Austen heroine, I’m hardly going to perish from a chill caught outside.”

“And yet, you were running a fever yesterday. And…” He opens his mouth, eyes half-lidded as he scents the air like a cat. “You’re not drinking enough, you’re dehydrated. Also congested, if that whistle in your lungs is anything to go by.”

Harry hates that he can do that. He hates the way he loves it more than anything. “Louis—”

“What did you want from upstairs?”

“A book, but I can get it—”

“Which one?”

Harry stares at him, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not telling you.”

“Uh-huh. Fine, then.” He hands the steaming mug out to Harry. “Make this float, if you will.”

“Why?”

“Harry.”

Harry sighs, but does as he’s told, the mug hovering in the air beside them. The moment it’s done, Louis swoops down and scoops him up as he squawks, laughing in surprise. “ _Louis_ ,” he yelps, “what are you _doing_ —”

“Taking you back to bed. Bring the chamomile.”

Despite Harry’s floundering, the mug does follow them into the bedroom. When Harry is tucked back in bed, surrounded by tissue boxes, a lavender sachet, and some gleaming rose quartz, books and his journals and pens rolling across the surface of the bed, his arms folded tightly across his chest, a frown darkening his pretty face, Louis goes upstairs to fetch his book. When he comes back, Harry is still frowning, though he has accepted holding the mug between his hands, the steam washing over his face.

“That’s not the book I wanted,” he says immediately.

“I know,” Louis says, as maddeningly cheerful as ever. “But this is the book I’m going to read to you.”

Harry’s frown recedes somewhat. “You’re going to read to me?”

“If it keeps you in bed, yes.”

“Some other things might keep me in bed,” he says lowly.

Louis stares at him and Harry raises his eyebrows twice. Amusement makes Louis’ eyes sparkle. “Harold.”

“Think about it: Orgasms.” He starts counting off on his fingers. “Decongestant, fever reducer, sleep aid. Instead of taking Lemsip or Nytol, people should just get each other off.”

“I’m sure the pharmacies will work on marketing that any day now.” Louis opens the book.

“They should. Secondly, it’s not like you can catch it! You can’t catch anything.”

“True.”

Harry watches him, watches the new rise and fall of his chest beneath his striped shirt, the way his hair, dusted gold by the sun, falls over his forehead in messy waves, the way he thumbs his lip as he reads through the beginning of the book. “Why are you doing all this?” he asks.

“You’re my mortal enemy, obviously.”

“I’m serious, Lou. You don’t have to be hanging on. I’m sure I look disgusting and _am_ disgusting,” he points to the rubbish bin filled with tissues by the bed, “and you definitely don’t have to be in here, sitting with me and reading to me.”

Louis looks at him. “All of that shit you just said, just now? I’m not going to dignify that with an answer. But I am going to say what you probably already know. Do you know, Harry, how long it’s been since I’ve gotten to take care of someone? A decade, at least. Niall never gets sick either, you know. So…” He shrugs. “Maybe let it happen. I mean, we _are_ nature-married and all.”

 “Well.” Harry did know that—and secretly, he kind of loves it. He’s not used to be taken care of, not like this. “I hate it.”

“I know.” He flips through the book’s opening pages. “Maybe if you’re good and sit through a few chapters, we’ll test out your replacement-Lemsip theory. Enthusiastically—at least twice to be sure of our scientific findings. Is that acceptable to His Illness?”

“Quite.” Harry smirks. “Your Majesty.”

Louis slashes a look at him, but he can’t tamper down his smile as he crawls onto the bed, nudging aside tissues and books, curling up next to Harry so he can lay his head down on Louis’ chest. Gently, Louis takes the mug and sets it on the bedside table.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Here we go.  _'S_ _quire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I take up my pen in the year…’_ ”

At which point, Harry promptly falls asleep.

Louis smiles broadly—and keeps reading.

* * *

Something about autumn makes the house at 1313 Willow Wisp Lane even stranger than usual.

It starts after Harry recovers from his illness, achieved by popular thought when they decided it would be a good idea to play in a creek and then run through the English rain, all on the same day. After four days of tender care, Harry is back at it once more, focusing all of his efforts on Niall’s wolfsbane potion—and whatever that entails.

No, the strangeness begins with Louis. Gradually, he stops staying up late in the day to spend time with them. They see less and less of him as the days go by, and by the time Niall’s birthday is very nearly on the horizon, he’s spending more of his time sleeping than ever. He’s been soft and slow with Harry, too, eyes shut and mouth warm, words quiet in the darkened room. He’s never that quiet, not with Harry, not with any of them.

“Where’s Lou?” Liam asks one morning, drizzling marmalade on a piece of toast.

Harry watches him, vaguely sickened by the amount he’s got there. “Sleeping.”

Liam crams half the toast in his mouth, his voice sticky and thick when he says, “’e sleeps a lot.”

 _He’s old_ , Harry almost says, but he stops himself at the last moment. Instead, he shrugs. “He’s tired.”

“Didn’t think he could be tired,” Liam says. “He’s always go, go, go. Energy of the sun, that one.”

“Yeah,” Harry says absently, looking in the direction of their bedroom. He waits for Liam to vanish into the early morning sunlight, off to work, before turning to Niall.

Niall holds up his hands. “ _No_ , I haven’t got a job yet and _yes_ , I paid the skip bill. I’ve an interview tomorrow, though, so we’ll see—”

“That wasn’t what I wanted to ask about. I wanted to talk about Lou.”

Niall drops his hands. “He’s fine, Haz.”

“Is he?”

Niall makes a face. “Listen, why don’t you talk to him? I think it’d be better—”

“Does this happen often?” Harry looks toward their bedroom again, gesturing vaguely. “This disappearing act.”

At that, Niall looks uncomfortable. He shrugs and nods at the same time. “Every one hundred years or so. This is only the second time I’ve seen it, but he’s told me about other times. It’s just…” Niall shakes his head. “You have to understand what it’s like for him. Time just goes on and on and _on_. Sometimes it’s hard to find meaning in that.” His cheeks darken a little. “It’s hard for _me_ sometimes, and he’s got centuries on me.”

“You know you can talk to me about anything. Any time. You could wake me—well, us—up, I wouldn’t care.”

Niall nods. “I know. But it’s hard when…” He trails off, looking away.

“When I don’t understand. Right? Is that what you meant?” Niall doesn’t answer and Harry nods. “I can’t understand because I haven’t been alive for a hundred years. I get it, Ni, it’s okay. You’re right. I _don’t_ understand. I can’t.” _I might never._

“He tries to hold it back, but it’s like me not changing. The more I don’t, the more it springs up when I least expect it to. When I least _want_ it to.”

Harry nods. “Okay. So what do I do here?”

“Just…be patient. Wait it out. He’ll come back.” Niall’s lips lift. “He always does.”

Before Harry goes in to work, unable to call out, he goes back into their bedroom, tiptoeing through the dark. Louis is splayed on his stomach, his cheek buried in the corner of Harry’s pillow, his eyes closed. He’s breathing ever-so-softly, almost imperceptibly, but Harry notices it all the time now. He can’t help it.

He touches Louis’ back, rubbing his hand across his shirt as he slides back in next to him. “I’ve got to go,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to Louis’ shoulder. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”

“’mkay,” Louis manages. He opens his eyes, peering at Harry blearily through his eyelashes. “What?”

“You’re like Persephone.”

Louis smiles at that, but his eyebrows furrow quizzically. “What d’you mean?”

“You’re Persephone. Every now and again, you’ve got to go to the Underworld.” Harry gestures around at their room. “And it’s dark down there.”

Louis looks at him for a moment and props himself up on his elbow. “You’ve been talking to Niall,” he says rustily.

“Mm-hm. But I can also see, Lou.” Louis smiles quickly at that, a brief flash that’s gone before Harry can even appreciate it. “Does this always happen?”

Louis nods wearily. “It’s kind of funny, if you think about it. The only part of me that can get sick is the most important part of me.” He taps his temple. He reaches out, touching Harry’s shoulder. “You should see the look on your face, darling. I’m the one thing in life you can’t fix, even with all your magic.”

“I don’t want to fix you,” Harry says simply, shrugging. “I want to love you.”

“You’re doing a bang-up job, love. And I mean that.” Louis lays back down, his hand slipping down Harry’s arm. “Thank you. Really.”

 “Just promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“You’ll come back.”

“Hey, Persephone always came back, right?” Louis twines his fingers with Harry’s, squeezing. “We’ll make spring when I get back. Flowers will bloom along the ground we walk.”

Harry smiles, raising their hands to kiss Louis’ knuckles. “Silly. They already have.” 

Sure enough, just a few days later, Louis comes out of the room, long sleeves obscuring his hands. He squints at the light of the sitting room. “Smells out here,” he says, running a hand through his hair. He has dark circles under his eyes, but Harry knows they’ll fade eventually.

“’m teaching Liam how to cook,” Niall says from where they’re standing in the kitchen, clapping flour at each other. They’re both dusted white and a faint haze of smoke hangs over them.

“No wonder,” he says and he grins at them as he walks toward the bathroom to shower. “Thanks for giving me some cleaning up to do, you shits.”

“Love you,” they call, their cackling laughs echoing to the eaves, and Harry laughs too from where he’s reading in the armchair, legs curled up under him. He can feel the house groan and settle and sigh, and his body echoes the motion, relieved. Things are going to be okay again soon, he can feel it.

* * *

The daisy ring on Louis’ dresser is what pushes him to get out of bed. It just sits there, staring him in the face, day in and day out, never wilting, never aging, never dying thanks to Harry’s magic. _Like me_ , he thinks. He will never be any older than he is now. He will walk the earth until there is earth to walk, and when the earth itself ends, well…he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. But it’s such a devastating realization, this idea that he will still be wandering the planet and Harry _won’t_ be at his side. It’s too much for him to take.

It’s the flower that makes him realize what he has to do. They’re _nature-married_. Before, when it was just Niall and himself, he had nothing to really pull him out of it. But he has something—someone—to live for, and that means he has to _do_ that, to carry on and live even though it’s hard to pull himself out of the dark places and even though it’s too bright and it hurts. He has to, because he and Harry don’t have that much time. He has to make every moment special, everything as beautiful as possible, so Harry never has to wonder if they wasted their time together. He has to be able to look back and know it was the best it could have ever been. He has to know it was real and it was everything and it was _magic._

So Louis drags himself out of bed. Brushes his teeth, showers. Combs his hair with his fingers. Pulls on clean clothes. Endures. Because it’s the right thing to do. It’s what Harry would do.

He finds Niall laying on the couch in a suit late the next afternoon, his tie undone, an arm thrown over his eyes. “How’d the interview go?”

“Brill. This was the second one, I think I’ve got it. Good to see you up again, doing things.” He lifts his arm, squinting. “Oi, you’re even breathing!”

“That I am.” He takes a deep breath, though the motion is still odd for him. “It’s a new day, Niall.”

“Glad to hear it! You and Harry both under the weather in a few weeks was not good.” He gestures to the kitchen. “I mean, look at all those dishes just piling up.”

“Wow,” Louis says, nodding with narrowed eyes. “And you were just _so_ busy, weren’t you?”

“A deal’s a deal, mate. I take care of the bills, you do the wash-up. And I’m ace at it, by the way.”

“Good to know, dick.” Niall snickers as Louis leans over the back of the sofa. “So can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you know anything about gardening?”

“ _Gardening_?” Niall laughs. “You finally taking up a hobby?”

“Fuck you,” Louis says good-naturedly. “I’m serious.”

“Ask Harry when he gets home.”

“Can’t.”

“And why not?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“ _Ooh_.” Niall shrugs, sitting up. “All right. I know three entire things about gardening.”

“Oh?”

“It happens outside, you plant things, and they grow.”

“Tops,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “Absolutely amazing. You should write a book.”

“Now _there’s_ an idea.”

Louis groans, slumping against the couch. “Hopeless,” he says, shaking his head. “Thanks loads.”

Niall pats his head. “No problem, bro. I’m here for you.”

He starts borrowing from Harry’s collection, flipping through books on flora and soil, with no clue what any of it means. Harry just raises an eyebrow when Louis finally asks if he can borrow some of the ones specifically on gardening.

“What are you up to?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

Louis blinks innocently, hands in his pockets. “Who says I’m up to anything?”

“You just fancied a bit of gardening?”

Louis shrugs. “Why not? Niall says I need a hobby.”

“You have hobbies.”

“I don’t think sex and exsanguination count, Harry.”

Harry blushes, laughing. “Right, well, point made. Gardening’s good for you. Everyone should know about gardening, so go ahead, take all the books you want.”

“Thanks.” He kisses his cheek, tugging gently on one of his curls before he goes.

Just like that, Louis disappears again, but there’s something very different about it this time. This time, he’s all sneaky grins and narrowed glances, all tantalizing talk and hushed laughs.

Finally, he comes into the house one night after the strike of twelve, just a day before Niall’s birthday. Niall’s asleep in the armchair, the TV glowing blue from where the Xbox has turned itself off after hours of no activity. Harry is curled up on the couch, a book on personal energy resting on his stomach as he dozes.

Louis kneels beside the sofa, watching Harry breathe. Gently, he places his hand against Harry’s chest. He’s so warm that Louis shivers and he imagines, in another lifetime, his stomach would grumble with how empty he feels from the hunger. He rubs his hand over Harry’s chest softly and Harry opens his eyes.

He smiles absently. “You look familiar.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like an old boyfriend of mine.”

“Well, what a coincidence.” Louis grins, his eyes crinkling. “I happen to be both old and your boyfriend.” He bends to kiss Harry’s hip where his shirt has slid up and Harry squirms, laughing quietly. When Louis sits up, he can’t help but stare. Even in the eerie glow of the telly, Harry is sleepy and beautiful, curls askew and eyes heavy-lidded. “Hey,” Louis whispers.

“Hey.” Harry says back, his eyes glittering. “Louis?”

“Hm?”

“It’s really nice to see you again.”

Louis smiles. “Told you I’d come back, didn’t I?” Still, guilt twists in his stomach. This isn’t how things are supposed to be, not now, not with Harry.

Harry nods. “You’ve got something on your face.”

Louis has to laugh at that, despite his worries. “What?”

“Your face. Here.” Harry swipes one finger across his cheek, looking at it in the half-light. “Soil.”

“Well, that makes sense. I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

“Come out to the garden in…ten seconds.”

Harry laughs again as Louis darts away, faster than he can see. His heart pounds weakly in his chest as his stomach rolls with nervousness; he needs a top-up, as it were, for it to beat more strongly. While he waits for Harry, he does some last-minute fiddling, straightening things and making sure it all looks perfect.

He hears the moment when Harry opens the back door, can hear the rapid-rabbit beat of his heart and the gentle glow of excitement that colors his skin, making pinpricks of sweat rise to his palms. Louis feels the same way. He feels like he’s about to ask him to marry him, to _really_ marry him with like an officiant and everything—which, he isn’t, but he will, someday. For now, nature is enough. He hopes, anyway.

The moment Harry comes around the corner is everything. If there’s a moment in Louis’ entire life that he wishes he could bottle and keep, hanging on a chain around his neck, resting beside his feebly stirring heart for the rest of his days, it would be this, right here. It would be Harry, bathed in golden fairy lights that Louis painstakingly strung up around the garden, in the branches of trees and from the roof, looped around the wrought-iron fence stakes. It would be Harry’s green eyes going wide, his petal lips blooming open, the lights reflected in his eyes; it would be the way his hands raise unconsciously, almost to his mouth before stopping, a perfect illustration of his shock and delight. It would be the way his eyes fall on the flowers Louis planted for him, for them, and it would be the slow smile he sends him when he looks up, absolutely dazzled.

“Those are night-blooming gladioluses,” he says, pointing at the fresh patch of earth where Louis has spent the last couple days getting everything ready.

“Yes,” Louis says, smiling. “I recall you having a fondness for them. And seeing as they bloom at night, I can enjoy them, too.” He pretends to buff his nails on his sleeve. “So you see, my reasons here were purely selfish, you don’t have to get all excited—”

Harry is a blur of footsteps and movement as he flings himself at Louis, winding his arms around his neck. Louis makes a soft noise of surprise, all the air going out of him in an unpleasant way that isn’t _that_ unpleasant because he’s just amazed that his body is capable of it at all. Luckily, he’s got good reflexes; he gets his arms up in time to catch Harry when he wraps his incredibly long legs around Louis’ waist.

“You planted nighttime flowers for me,” he says happily, his face buried in Louis’ neck. “And you don’t know anything about gardening!”

“I know!” Louis laughs. “Isn’t it amazing?”

“That’s why you borrowed all my books, so you knew how to plant them. And in September!”

“Yes,” Louis says, holding Harry’s body against his, one hand splayed across his wide back where he can feel every stuttering breath, every excited heartbeat through his silk shirt. “You’ve found me out.”

Slowly, Harry untangles his legs, righting himself carefully. He keeps his arms around Louis’ neck and he likes the weight of them. He looks him in the eyes and this is the moment right here, the one he has been simultaneously waiting for and dreading. Louis takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“Look, I uh. I know I’m not always the ideal boyfriend. I’m a slob, I’m old, and I sleep a lot.” Harry opens his mouth to say something, but Louis shakes his head. "Hang on, hear me out. Erm, sometimes there are days when I can’t see the point of waking up, when I can’t be arsed to pretend to be alive. I never imagined I would have those days with you around. So I guess I just wanted to say I’m sorry?” Louis nods. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I planted them for that—and as a promise.”

“A promise of what?” Harry asks softly.

“That I’ll get better. That I’ll _be_ better, for you.”

Harry looks at him evenly for a long time, as if waiting for something—for a punchline, or an explanation. Finally, Harry shakes his head. “Louis. You do know what you have is _depression,_ right?”

“Depression?” Louis makes a face. “What? No. I’m not _depressed_. It’s just—”

“Periodic feelings of hopelessness, can’t see the point in anything, sleeping all the time, irritability… The symptoms go on and on, those are just the ones I’ve noticed with you.”

“But—”

“What did you think was wrong?”

“I dunno. Head just goes off a bit.”

“Yeah, that’s depression, babe. How long have you been dealing with this?”

“Since before they had a name for it, obviously! Since…oh, I dunno, the Renaissance, maybe?”

Harry stares. “You’ve been dealing with this for over four hundred years.”

“Back then, you didn’t _talk_ about these things. There was something wrong with you if you did. Can you imagine if I’d said something under Victoria? They would’ve tossed me in old Bedlam and left me there, especially with the whole gay thing added on. Or made me go…I dunno, horseback riding. Hunting. Doing _manly_ things to cure me of my womanly emotional affliction.” Louis shudders theatrically.

“So you’ve never really talked about this? Ever?”

Louis shakes his head. “Just with Niall, sort of.”

Harry bites his lip. “Well, there are statistics about it being common in the elderly.”

“Oh my _god_.”

“It’s true! And you’ve lived ten lifetimes more than most elderly humans. So for you, it’s even worse. But you don’t have to feel bad about it.”

Louis shifts, looking away from Harry’s gaze. “Well. I do. I mean, realistically, what do I have to be depressed about? It’s not like I can die, I can’t get sick, I’m disgustingly rich, I can basically do whatever I want.” He swallows hard. “I have you. I’m _lucky_.”

“ _Louis_. That’s not—” Harry sighs. “Look. Yeah, maybe you are lucky. So? That doesn’t change the fact that you have this. You said so yourself, your brain is _sick_. It’s an organ, just like any of your others. You wouldn’t tell someone with an appendix problem that they have nothing to be in pain about, would you?”

Louis shrugs. He’d never thought of it that way before. “No,” he admits.

“Exactly. Even you can feel things like this. It happens. And it’s not something to be ashamed of. It tells me you’re not properly listening to what you need, you’re not taking care of yourself by considering your mental and emotional needs. And that’s the thing, isn’t it?” Harry takes a step back, moving his hands down to grip Louis’ shoulders. “You take care of me, us, all the time. Since you met Niall even, that’s what you do, it’s who you are. But what about you, Louis? Who takes care of you?”

He opens his mouth, about to say _you_ , but he stops—because that’s not true, is it? He doesn’t let Harry take care of him. He had to be pushed and prodded into letting Harry even give him the scant bit of blood he does now, and he _still_ only takes the minimum he needs to get by, half as often. Because he’s always taking care of Harry, always looking out for him, always worried about their band of merry monsters.

 _He’s right,_ Louis thinks, _what about me?_

“Listen,” Harry says, “I don’t want you to promise to me that you’re going to get better. That’s not realistic at all because, honestly, Lou? You won’t. There’s no cure for it. You may be undead or whatever, but you’re going to have this forever. These moments are always going to come back. Sometimes they won’t be as bad and they’ll be over quickly, and other times they’re going to drag you down and devastate you. So I don’t want you to ever try and promise to do something impossible, not even for me.”

“Well, what can I do, then?”

Harry smiles and it sends relief rippling through Louis. “First off, you can stop with that _I_ nonsense. This is one hundred percent a _we_ thing now. And you can…” Harry looks around, thinking. There’s a playful glimmer in his eyes that makes Louis relax, that makes him smile a little bit despite all of this. “You can plant these flowers to me as a promise that you’ll talk to me when you start feeling bad. That you'll let me know what's going on with you so I can help, so I can support you. I can make you tea with St. John's wort, it's been known to help. I can do whatever you want that you think will help you, you just have to _tell me_."

Louis pretends to think that through. "Okay. I _suppose_ that's acceptable. What else?"

"You can promise to...stop apologizing for who you are. I’m in this, Louis. There’s nothing about you that can scare me away, so stop trying to get rid of me. It’s not going to happen, no matter what.”

“I’m not—”

“You can promise to let me take care of you, and I _mean it_." When Louis flashes him his best _okay MUM_ look, Harry frowns knowingly. "I know you've been skimping on blood, Louis. I know you're still afraid to hurt me."

"With good reason."

Harry shakes his head, laughing. “You’re so funny, Lou, honestly. Like this whole ‘I can kill you’ thing. Okay, so? So can Niall. So could Zayn. So could a regular boring human, like Liam or something. So could a bus in town tomorrow. So could…I dunno, a poorly-timed slip in the shower. So could a cup of tea. I could die at literally any moment.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“What I’m trying to say is I'm not a china doll, Lou, even if I'm pretty as one." He smiles when Louis laughs. "I won't break the moment life, or you, is a little rough with me.”

Now _that_ is good to know. Swallowing thickly, Louis says, "All right, so I’m not even remotely impressive, thank you. What else?"

"You can promise to be better to yourself, and listen to what it is your body and mind need. You can promise to be my big spoon and braid my hair sometimes, and I know you want to, because sometimes you talk in your sleep and you said so. You can promise to take walks with me when the sun goes down." Harry grins outright. "You can promise to make me breakfast sometimes, even though you're rubbish at it."

Louis scoffs. "Okay, now you're just taking the piss."

"Absolutely not! I wouldn't dream of it." Harry takes Louis' hands. "The thing about relationships is we're not two ones anymore, Lou. We're one two."

"I was told there would be no maths."

Harry laughs. "Can you shush, Louis, I'm _trying_ to have a moment here."

"Okay, all right. Sorry." Louis nods. "The maths. Relationships." 

"Right. That means we're both in this, together. It means taking care of _each other_. Get it?"

"I think I'm starting to." Louis fits his fingers with Harry's. "Okay. I promise to do all of that. Starting right now. And I'm sorry for not letting you know what's going on with me. It's just...I forget sometimes, even now. That I can let someone in, that it's _safe_."

"I know. But it is! I'm always going to fight to make it safe for you, for me, for Niall and Zayn and even Liam, that shady prick."

Louis snorts at that. "Human until proven otherwise. What a terribly normative way to live."

"That's another thing I'll fight for. The magic and the mystery." Harry waggles his eyebrows in what Louis thinks is meant to be mysterious but comes across as more ridiculous than anything. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“So,” Harry says, looking down at the flowers, “Persephone after all.”

“Why? Because I planted flowers?” Louis snorts. “If anyone around here is Persephone, it’s you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Did you forget that time in the woods? Literal dandelions exploded. Mushrooms grew. Flowers grow wherever you walk, following you everywhere you go just so they can be near to you.”

“Trust me, I have never forgotten that time in the woods,” Harry says, his gaze lowering to Louis’ lips. “Does that make you Hades, then?”

“Rich, immortal, vaguely dead? Absolutely gone for a goddess of spring?” Louis leans in, grinning. “You bet.”

A surge of hunger rips through him as he kisses Harry breathless, sliding his tongue into his mouth. He’s always so _hungry_ for him and it isn’t even just to make his heart race, to drink his blood or watch the color rise high in his cheeks, his lips parting and eyes screwing shut as he comes in spectacular fashion.  It’s the little things, too. It’s the nearness of his body, the magnetic warmth of his body, so full of light and life. It’s chasing every smile, each high musical note of laughter; it’s following his words down any spiral staircase they want to take Louis, even if whatever Harry’s talking about is considered mundane, like when he wonders aloud what it would be like to live in a submarine and who came up with the idea for the first litter box and how work was and whether or not the postman came on time. It’s the simple pleasure of being hungry for the presence of a person, for their existence alongside yours, for the desire to keep them there so you can feel the magic of their very being bleeding over into your own life until you aren’t sure where the dots of you start and the points of them end, stars connected into a constellation to make a complete picture, a story. It’s this hunger he feels all the time, this need to _be_ wherever Harry is. To be alive at the same time as him, it’s a particular kind of thrill and honor.

One he wants to celebrate.

“Hang on,” Harry gasps, slotting a hand between them. “The gladiolus bulbs are watching.”

Louis almost bites his tongue. “What?”

“They’re _watching_ us, I can feel it.”

“So? We’re nature-married. They should get used to it. Besides, I thought they approved of us and all that.”

“Well, sure, but they’re _babies_ , Lou. You only just planted them. We can’t just—out here, in front of the children!”

Louis stares at him. “Are you having me on?”

“What? No!”

“Seriously? Because I can’t even tell with you anymore, with the old jokes and making fun of my cooking…”

“I’m dead serious, Louis. We’ve got to take this inside.” He shifts. “Besides, we’ve never actually had sex in a bed before. I know it might be a little…trivial for you, since you’ve probably done it everywhere, but—”

“Calling me a slag now? How romantic.” He gestures around the garden. “And I strung up fairy lights for you and everything.”

“Louis, _no_. Besides, it doesn’t matter to me. I mean, what am I gonna do about it? You were like…prehistoric shagging. I wasn’t even a blip on the cosmos’ radar when you were getting a leg over with the—” He’s shaking and Louis realizes it’s because he’s laughing. “With the dinosaurs or whatever— ”

“That’s it,” Louis says, pulling his arms away from Harry. “I’m leaving. I go out of my way to be _nice_ and plant flowers and then some wise-cracking witch, who is _not_ funny, I might add, completely ruins the mood and refuses to have sex with me in these _lovely_ conditions which I slaved over, simply for the fact that there are _baby flowers around_.” Louis waves a hand, heading back down the path toward the house. “Goodbye, Harold.”

Harry is still laughing. “Wait, you’re not—are you serious?”

Louis doesn’t look back, shouting, “Oh, well, you’ve got work in the morning, haven’t you? So good night, I think I’ll just have a bath, wash all this long-suffering soil off me…”

There’s a noise like a cracker popping and suddenly Harry is right there in front of him on the path, still giggling. “Louis, you are _not_ going to take a bath and I am not going to bed—well, not going to sleep, anyway. You planted flowers for me! I don’t care about work, not right now.” He plants his hands on his hips and Louis smiles. “We’re doing this.”

Louis curls his fingers into Harry’s shirt, leaning in to whisper against his mouth. “Then you’d better magic us inside before we destroy the childhoods of some poor young flowers with everything I want to do to you.”

Harry pulls Louis close and they kiss again in time for Louis to feel threads of magic, prickly and warm, wrap around him and send them through space.

Wind whips some of Harry’s books around, their pages flipping, as they land in their room. Louis feels like he’s just licked a battery; his whole being is radiant with light and he can feel his heart racing, pounding against his chest.

“Whoa,” he says, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Your magic is—”

“Charged,” Harry says breathlessly, pulling his shirt up and over his head. “With my energy.”

“Your energy is…” Louis licks his lips, reaching out a hand to steady himself, closing his eyes. He feels like he’s on fire, flames licking their way up every inch of his skin. “Holy shit.”

“What can I say? You were right. I _really_ like flowers.” Now out of shirt, he flings himself at Louis and the two of them tumble down onto the bed.

Louis rolls over onto his back, running his hands up Harry’s thighs. Harry grips Louis’ shirt in both hands and pulls like he’s going to tear it off, only for it to disappear and then reappear on the other side of the room. Trust Harry to be careful enough  _not_ to rip his clothes. 

“Can you do that to my jeans, too?” he asks.

Harry nods, gripping the belt loops and pulling; in an instant, his jeans are on the floor or maybe the desk, he isn’t sure which, because he’s distracted by the feeling of Harry against his bare skin, and the shock of how warm he always is.

“Fuck,” Louis says, “I love magic.” He leans up to kiss Harry, gripping his neck and his jaw and his cheeks, running his hands through those wild curls as Harry unzips his own jeans.

“Do mine,” he whispers.

“Yours? But—” 

“I need to go shopping anyway. Do it.”

Louis grins, reaching for Harry’s jeans. He rips them at the seams, peeling the fabric away from his skin. Harry’s pupils blow wide as he kicks them off, the tatters falling from the side of the bed. “That was hot,” he says, “that _rrrripping_ sound, oh my god.”

“You are so, so strange,” Louis says, laughing as Harry stands to kick free of his pants as well.

“Says you,” he replies, falling back down, his legs framing Louis’, their hips pressed together. He drags his thumb along the line of Louis’ waistband, dipping his nail inside to scrape over his abdomen. “‘I love magic’, he says, as I vanish his pants somewhere far, far away…”

“Please,” Louis manages and Harry does, nothing between them but the air, but the heady thickness of magic and their combined arousal, all of it a drug that goes straight to Louis’ head.

As Louis yanks Harry down to kiss him again, he can _feel_ the love in him the way he can sense his heart rate, speeding along like a bullet train; he can feel it in the way he can taste his sweat just by opening his mouth and scenting the air, the way he can taste how turned on he is by the release of his pheromones. It’s like a new layer under his skin, something shining and sweet, with a feeling huge enough to bring Louis to his knees.

It’s everywhere, like some new color woven into a tapestry, threaded throughout the entirety of his being, like his very DNA has been rewritten with whispers of it, love interspersed within the code. There’s hints of it in his blood, adding a new richness to the taste of him; there’s sighs of it in the forests of his lungs; there’s echoes of it in every beat of his heart, their love shouted down the walls of a canyon and then calling back to them in the voices of their future selves. Harry is made of love now, absolutely lush with it.

“You’re good at summoning things, right?” Louis asks when they part, Harry breathing hard above him.

“Erm, yeah. Why?”

Louis reaches up, wrapping his favorite curl of Harry’s around his finger. “Bring me your two favorite silk scarves without leaving this bed,” he says, licking Harry’s top lip. “And I’ll make it worth your while.”

Louis laughs as Harry scrambles away to call his scarves from the closet; he’s never seen him move so fast.

The thing about being over a thousand years old is you have lived a grand long life of learning things. There isn’t really much else to do, besides get good at things. Louis has had plenty of time to cultivate hobbies, from the normal such as collecting antiquities and bird-watching, to the unusual, like carving egg shells and trainspotting.

One hobby of his that he’s particularly good at is tying knots.

“Say something if they’re too tight.”

Harry yanks on them. “They’re not, but…holy hell, Louis, they are solid. Were you in the Navy?”

“Yes,” he says, grinning. “Before I defected for a life of piracy in the West Indies.”

“That’s hot,” Harry says, tugging on the scarves again. His wrists are tied to the headboard, keeping him in an upright position, but his legs are free to do as they please.

“You think everything is hot,” Louis says as he moves back down Harry’s body.

“Everything with you, yeah. Fuck.”

Harry strains against the scarves as Louis kisses the swell of one calf. He looks up at Harry, grinning as he does it, moving up to the inside of his knee. A full-body tremor goes through Harry and his lips part, shiny from where he’s licked them.  

“I haven’t had the chance to properly do this to you, or with you for that matter,” Louis says lowly. “So believe me when I say I’m going to savor every second of this and every _inch_ of you.”

Harry closes his eyes, groaning softly. He’s already hard, body flushed a pretty pink in turns.

Louis devours him slowly, smiling every time Harry makes a soft mewling noise against the insistent pressure of his tongue. He traces Harry’s legs, jumping up to his chest where he scrapes his teeth over Harry’s collarbone and leaves a trail of wet kisses down to his nipples. Harry sucks in a breath when Louis sucks one of his nipples into his mouth, and he gasps aloud when, with just the slightest flick of his teeth, cuts alongside one of them. He laps at the blood and Harry shudders, arching toward him as Louis sucks hard, drinking him down.

“Harry,” Louis says, panting as he leans back. “You’re so beautiful.”

Blood trickles slowly, messily, down Harry’s chest. It colors in the butterfly’s wings.

“Fuck me,” Harry says breathlessly, straining against the ties toward Louis, to kiss him feverishly, but Louis edges back just out of reach.

“Patience, love,” Louis says, skimming a finger down Harry’s abs and he’s quaking again.

Louis dips his head to mouth at Harry’s hips, leaving marks; they’re purple bruises ringed in red, little flowers that he can admire later. Harry thrashes under him, whispering a litany of prayers and promises to Louis if he’ll just _fucking untie him_ , and Louis _loves_ Harry’s mouth like this when he wants to get fucked, and it just makes him laugh because Harry could’ve used magic to untie them already, even with Louis’ talent for knots. But he hasn’t. Because he likes it and it’s part of the game.

Finally, Louis slides a hand over Harry’s cock, and he lets out the filthiest moan yet, hips jutting up into Louis’ hand. “Touch me,” he begs. “Please, Louis, _more_.”

“I’ll do you one better, babe,” Louis says and he lowers his head, taking Harry into his mouth.

Harry lets out a cry that fills up the entire room. The candles on their bedside table flare to life, one of the flames nearly catching the edge of the lampshade above it.

“Gonna get those?” Louis purrs innocently, moving his hand slowly up and down Harry’s cock, smearing spit and precome down its length.

Harry shakes his head fervently. “Let them burn,” he says hoarsely and then he’s moaning again, Louis swirling his tongue around the head of his cock.

He plays with Harry’s balls, tugging on them gently, as he licks the underside of his cock, following the vein beneath. He wants to bite him so badly, wants to drink the blood pooling there beneath his skin, but he knows how badly it will hurt and he wants this to be all about good things for Harry, good _feelings_.

As if he can read Louis’ mind, though, Harry grits out, “Fucking love it with your mouth on me. You want to bite me, don’t you?”

Louis’ dick twitches in response, heat slamming through him in a wave. That’s all he wants to do, besides get Harry off. He wants to smear blood all up and down his cock, and lick him clean. He wants the taste of Harry singing through him when he fucks him into the mattress, wants to come with them both splattered with it. Wants Harry’s _life_ all over them both, because he doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand that Louis is already his, will always be, belonging to him so utterly that he _should_ be marked with Harry’s blood because he owns him entirely, body and soul.

“Do it,” Harry manages, eyes opening. It’s the look in his eyes that gets Louis, sending desire ringing straight to his cock. It’s dazed lust, but it’s also admiration, love. He feels safe here. This is their place, and he’s telling Louis to drink his blood. His words come back to Louis about not being afraid of who he is, about how they’re both in this.

Harry grins, color high in his cheeks. “Drink me.”

 _Eat me, drink me_. Louis plans to do both tonight. With a slight snarl, his fangs pull free and he licks Harry’s cock again, taking it in his mouth. Harry wails as Louis’ teeth scrape over his skin, the feeling painful and delicious all at once. He’s still keening when Louis bites, the tiniest of pricks, into the base of Harry’s dick. Blood gushes into his mouth and it’s scorching, cherry-wine, red lips, a fire burning too high on a summer night, Harry’s sweat-slicked skin next to his, loud laughter and legs burning from running, running, running across the beach, hot wind dragging its nails through sun-warmed curls.

Louis’ hips thrust of their own accord, grinding down into the mattress as he deep throats Harry, sucking his blood and holding him down by his hips all at once to stop Harry from face-fucking him, from drowning him in the taste. His blood goes straight to Louis’ head and he can only do it twice more before he’s dizzy and too warm, too full of Harry’s rich flavor.

His lips pop off Harry’s dick with a delicious wet sound and he gasps, blood spilling down his chin. Harry’s wailing again, sound filling up every empty space in the room, occupying the minuscule beats of air between their bodies, but he can’t speak, staring at the ceiling, incoherent and trembling from head to toe.

“You all right, darling?” Louis asks, still jerking Harry in his hand, slowly, his free fingers pressed to the wound to staunch the flow. Too much, and the fun’s over.

Harry nods. “Gonna come,” he mutters. “Gonna come, Lou, gonna—”

Louis takes his hand away immediately and Harry almost cries, letting out a disappointed sob. “No, you’re not,” Louis says, wiping the blood from his hand on Harry’s thigh. He’d be the soul of stern reproach, if he wasn’t dry-humping their bed and breathless, his voice wavering.

He meets Harry’s gaze and he curls a finger at him. “C’mere,” Louis says roughly and _that’s_ when Harry seizes the opportunity. The scarves snap into action, untying themselves so fast that Louis swears he hears one of them rip before Harry is launching forward, on Louis in a heartbeat.

They kiss eagerly, Harry’s tongue hot on his, and Louis drags him in, both of them on their knees in the center of the bed. As Louis falls back on his heels, Harry clings to him, one arm crooked around his neck, the other stroking Louis.

“No,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s wrist to stop him.

Harry whines, licking Louis’ jaw, kissing his neck. “Wanna touch you, Louis,” he breathes. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

“Because it’s about you. That does enough for me.”

“Well, what _I_ want is to touch you.” Harry pauses for just a moment, leaning back to look in Louis’ eyes. “Please.”

Louis’ about to say _yes_ , but the word sticks in his throat. He can’t. He doesn’t know why, he just can’t.

“Weren’t we just talking about letting me take care of you?” Harry asks, his eyes feverish. “Why are we still here at this point? Why won’t you let me?”

“I don’t—”

“No, come on. You know.” Harry cups Louis’ face, eyes searching. “You don’t think you deserve it. Right? That’s it, that’s what you think. You think you’ve done all these terrible things so you don’t deserve to be loved.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, because Harry’s right and he already _knows_ he’s right, so what’s the point?

“Do you know,” Harry asks, kissing his jaw, “how much light you give off? How good you are, every day, with me, with everyone, all the time?” He kisses his chin. “You’re not your past and you’re not your mistakes. You’re Louis and I love you. You deserve this,” he says, darting in to kiss Louis’ cheek softly, to kiss his lips once and then again, deeper this time, softer. “You deserve to be happy. You deserve to feel good. Please, just let me—”

“Okay,” Louis manages, nodding. “Okay.” _I deserve this,_ he tells himself sternly _. I don’t, but Harry says so, so I must._ That’s the only logic he can muster.

“Okay,” Harry repeats happily, kissing Louis again and again. “Okay, okay, okay.”

They kiss languidly, Harry stroking Louis as he buries his face in his neck, sucking and gasping and breathing and whispering, “It’s okay, Lou, it’s all okay, I love the feel of you,” and Louis’ arms are around him, hands traveling over his broad shoulders and back, following the path of his spine, everywhere, and then Harry’s tonguing Louis’ earlobe, nipping at it, and Louis can hardly stand it anymore. He surges forward, mouth clamping on Harry’s neck, and Harry moans, squealing and shuddering as his teeth snap down, and he bites him just to bite him, just to taste him again, just to cause him a little pain because he knows Harry likes it, likes the way it makes his blood race.

Blood spatters against their sheets. Neither of them notice.  

Harry pushes Louis back onto the bed. “I would tie you up,” he says, as Louis spreads his legs to give him room, “but I’m not that good at knots and I know how much you like to touch my hair, so…”

Louis just groans, leaning his head back because he’s right, Harry’s hair is a true weakness for him, right up there with sunlight and tea.

Harry winks at him as he lowers himself, laying with his head against Louis’ hip, his curls soft against his skin. Idly, he begins stroking Louis’ cock with the tip of one finger, from the head down to the base, along the top and underneath. A shiver rolls across Louis’ entire body and he can feel himself going stiff, every muscle seizing up in anticipation. His cock is aching, precum leaking from it as Harry watches him.

“Heal yourself,” he grits out, “you’re still bleeding.”

“Doesn’t matter. This is about you, now. So, beautiful Louis,” Harry says with a purr in his voice, a smile lighting up as his face as he grips Louis' cock. “Shut up. Please.”

He doesn’t lick him first, just dips his head down to take him fully into his mouth. Louis bites back a moan as he does, the wetness and heat utterly overwhelming, short-circuiting every connection to his brain. Harry swirls his tongue around the head, getting him good and wet before he goes a little lower, lips striving to meet his curled fingers. He pops off only to lick the length of it, pressing a sneaky kiss to the inside of Louis’ thigh, before he’s got his lips wrapped around his dick once more.

Harry is both efficient and exuberant when it comes to blowjobs, Louis discovers. He is never still, always doing something with hands and tongue. He twists his hand around the base of Louis’ cock every time he goes down, his cheeks hollow as he sucks hard and makes Louis groan aloud. His eyes flick up to where Louis is watching him and the eye contact is like a punch to the gut, Harry’s dimples showing with a smile as he pulls off and pumps Louis, spit trailing down his chin. “I love you,” is all he says, lowering his head again a split second later.

“Oh my god,” Louis murmurs as his hips swirl, thrusting up into Harry’s mouth to meet him.

Harry takes his hand away, making it a game of how much of Louis he can get in his mouth with each jut of Louis’ hips, with each movement, as his hand trails along the inside of Louis’ thighs, tracing his balls before dipping further back and circling Louis’ hole. He sucks in a sharp breath, grabbing at Harry’s hair, getting a full handful to hold it back from his face and to pull with every teasing circle of his finger. Harry hums in approval and Louis’ hips jerk.

Harry looks up at Louis as he moves further down, his lips bright red and wet, his cock disappearing inside them. He thinks Harry will stop at some point, he has to, but he doesn’t, not until he’s reached the base of it, his nose pressed to the scattered hair there. Slowly, he drags himself back up, sucking hard on the head and Louis’s back arches like he’s been struck by lightning.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good,” he says, his knees trembling as Harry’s finger is more insistent at his ass, pressing hard enough that his balls are starting to tighten. “But you—you’ve got to stop.”

“Why?” he asks, drooling as he lifts off. He rubs his parted lips down the side of Louis’ dick, nudging it up with his cheek to do the same to the underside, mouthing wetly at the thick vein. With his free hand, he reaches up to trace one of Louis’ nipples, smirking when Louis cries out breathlessly.

“You want me to—to fuck you, right?”

Harry _mm-hmm_ ’s around his dick and the humming has Louis buzzing with him, a sharp heat tugging at his stomach. “Then you’ve _got_ to stop,” he urges, tugging on Harry’s hair so he’ll look at him. His own voice sounds dim and far away, like it belongs to someone else.

Harry hums a distinctive no, cheeks hollowing again as he deep-throats Louis, sucking him so hard that Louis’ hips are nearly pulled up from the mattress. “Fuck,” he says weakly. His teeth are pricking his bottom lip and the overwhelming scent of Harry, all strawberries and sunshine, fills the room in heady streams, making him dizzier than before, making his skin crawl with flames. “I’m gonna come.”

Harry hums and this time he doesn’t stop, the vibrations moving along the entirety of Louis’ cock, and just like that he’s coming in Harry’s mouth, gripping his hair and holding Harry in place, Harry who breathes heavily through his nose, still sucking down every bit of him, swallowing with a glimmer in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he says when Louis lets go, falling back to the mattress, “ _that_ was brilliant.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, giving Louis a few more licks that have him twitching and gasping, before he shimmies back up beside him. He kisses Louis messily, his lips bright red, and Louis can taste himself on Harry’s tongue. The idea of it has him stirring feebly.

“Dunno if I can fuck you now,” he admits. “Me legs are dead. So thanks for that.”

Harry shrugs. “Worth it. Unless you want some more blood? I’m good for it, Lou, I promise.” He rolls his hips, his own still-hard cock pressed between them against Louis’ side. “Raring for it, really.”

“Maybe,” Louis says, looking over at him, at where blood has dripped down the entire length of his right side from his neck and chest, painting him crimson. “It’s worth looking into.”

“Don’t even play with me,” Harry says, tilting his head away to show off the bite mark on his neck. “You love it. So go for it again so you can fuck me properly like the nature-spouses we are. Otherwise, what kind of nature-honeymoon would this be?”

“ _Nature-spouses_ ,” Louis says with a laugh. The feeling is starting to come back into his legs just at the sight of the mess he’s made on Harry. “I like that.”

Harry grins. “Me too.”

Louis rolls over, draping half of his body over Harry’s to kiss him again. Nothing in this world can properly kill him except sunlight and losing his head, but he feels like this might, drowning in the taste and warmth, losing himself entirely in Harry’s brightness. He slides a hand up Harry’s thigh, pausing at the skin just over his dick. He brushes his fingers gently across the bite mark, but Harry inhales sharply anyway.

“Heal this one, at least,” he murmurs against Harry’s lips. Louis’ fingers skate along the ridge of his hip, across the planes of his abs to the butterfly inked on his chest, to his nipples. “And this one. Don’t want to end the fun too quickly, do we?”

“Can I ask you something?” Harry gasps. Louis watches, entranced, as the skin of his chest neatly knits itself back together, shimmering a little with waves of magic in the air.

“Depends. What is it?”

“Something of an academic question.”

Louis laughs. “Now?”

“It just – _ah_ ,” Harry gasps, tilting his head back as Louis sucks his nipple into his mouth, “popped into my head. Don’t want to forget.”

“Fire away,” Louis says, smirking as he circles Harry’s nipple slowly with his tongue, tracing the shape of it.

“Um, what d’you think would happen if I,” he threads his fingers through Louis’ hair, breath sharpening to a whine, “if I drank your blood? Do you know?”

Louis stops, faltering. It’s not a question he expected to come up so soon or possibly ever because most people don’t consider blood-drinking to be required or even normal. “I’m—well, I’m not entirely sure.”

Harry wraps his legs around Louis’ middle, dragging him further up his body. “Would you taste good?”

Louis drops his head to rest beside Harry’s, groaning. “All right, look, can we save the academia for later? Just this once?”

“Deal,” Harry says, arching his hips to rub against Louis.

Louis bores him down into the mattress, sucking along the height of his collarbone, pressing his teeth into it but not biting, not yet. Teasing and tasting, enough to put him on the edge and keep him there right where he wants. Harry keens, panting, squirming under him.

“Are you ready yet?” he asks. 

“Not quite.” Louis leans back, sitting up on his knees. “Turn over.”

Harry scrambles to obey, laying flat on his stomach, his arms outstretched. Louis grabs hold of his hips, his fingers pressing into the marks he left earlier with his mouth, and Harry whines and shudders as he hauls him up onto all fours.

“Arse up, darling,” he croons. He runs his hands over Harry’s lower back, letting his fingers trail into the dimples there, softly chasing the lines of his cheeks down to his thighs. “You have the cutest, perkiest bum in the world.”

Harry laughs, his voice muffled by the sheets. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Now, I’m going to hurt you again, darling. Just a bit. All right?”

“Bite me,” Harry gets out, wiggling his arse at Louis.

Louis snickers. “That’s the idea. But you’re good?”

“God, Louis, _yes_.”

Louis smiles at the plaintive need in his voice before he bends, pressing a kiss to the small of Harry’s back. He shivers at the touch. Louis keeps going, traveling further down, down the swell of his arse to the backs of his thighs where he just barely, ever-so-softly brushes his lips over Harry in the ghost of a kiss. Harry twitches and trembles beneath him, his hands moving across the mattress.

Louis frowns. “Hands to yourself, Harold.”

“Lou—” His voice is all breath, all desire.

“I’m serious. Don’t make me tie you up again.”

Harry moans, digging his fingers into the mattress, twisting the sheets. “Good boy,” Louis whispers, his breath hot against the back of his left thigh.

He sticks out the tip of his tongue and presses it to Harry’s hot skin. Harry gasps, groaning low against the bed. Louis lets the rest of his tongue follow, licking up a warm path. He opens his mouth wider, freeing his teeth—and then he grabs Harry by the hips and bites, teeth parting his skin.

Harry screams. It’s not quiet or subtle and he’s shaking, burying his face in their bed to hide his cries as Louis drinks. He reaches around with one hand, the other holding tightly to Harry’s hip, and moves along the length of his cock. He’s still slick with his own blood and Harry drags the sheets up to his face, sobbing into them, thrusting into Louis’ hand weakly while Louis mouths at the skin just below his arse. 

Finally, he breaks away, drawing back. Blood has gone everywhere, all down the back of Harry’s leg and the sheets are awash in it, scarlet and beautiful. It’s made a mess of Louis as well, spilled across his chest and one of his hands; he brings it up to his mouth to lick his fingers. He hates to waste even a drop of it, but he’s only one vampire, how is he meant to drink it all when Harry is just overflowing?

“Give me your hand, baby,” Louis says, after wiping his mouth off on his arm.

Shakily, Harry reaches back. Louis guides his hand to the bite, pushing his fingers against it; Harry’s body jumps with the pain like he’s a live wire. “Heal it. I won’t have you passing out on me.”

“ _So_ thoughtful,” he says weakly. Still, he does as Louis says, the skin healing right before his eyes. The redness and a bruise remains, however, in the perfect shape of Louis’ mouth.

“Harry—”

“Souvenir,” he mutters thickly. “Now fuck me, will you?”

Louis smiles. “Say it again.” He grasps Harry’s hips. The whole room smells like blood and sweat and springtime and flowers and Louis is so fucking alive, he never knew it could be this good ever again, never like this.

“Fuck me, Louis.”

“Nicely.”

“Fuck me, _please_ ,” Harry rasps.

He grins a little darkly and lowers his mouth to Harry’s hole, tasting him. Harry gasps sharply, moaning as Louis tastes him, trailing his tongue in slow circles before pointing his tongue straight and pushing inside. Harry groans, saying something, but his voice is muffled by the sheets again. Louis pulls back, replacing his tongue with the tip of his thumb. 

“Lube, baby.”

A bottle appears beside Louis before he even finishes his sentence. He drizzles some onto Harry’s bum and he squeaks at the chill, the sound warming into a low moan as Louis slides a finger inside, stroking experimentally.

“Louis, I’m ready, just—”

Louis shushes him, rubbing a comforting hand across his arse as he slips in another finger. Harry is trembling so hard that Louis can feel it from the inside, in the white-hot core of him.

“Love the way you sound right now,” Louis says, though his own voice is on the edge of shaking. He moves his fingers in and out. “How wrecked your voice is.”

“Louis, _please_.”

“Love the way you beg me for it.” Louis kisses Harry’s back again. “Love you.”

“Then _prove it_ , you—” He cries out as a third finger goes in. 

Just as quickly, Louis pulls out with all of them, aligning his hips with Harry’s. “You’re so bossy,” he says with a breathless laugh. It morphs into a groan as he sinks into Harry slowly. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this feeling, the two of them together like this. It’s so different from anyone else he’s ever been with, because he’s the last one, _the_ one. That’s all that matters.

The bed moves under them as Louis slowly pulls out, Harry urging back. Their rhythms are tangled; Louis is slow, methodical, but he’s been teasing Harry all night, and he wants it _now_. Louis decides to oblige him, at least this once. He lets Harry dictate it, lets him arch back and meet his thrusts, his curls bouncing over his shoulder with every movement. Louis is already too close to the edge, just from the way Harry is moving and moaning and squeezing every time he grinds down on his dick, and it’s almost too much. He’s so grateful for his boy and what he has learned to do with his body, but he swears Harry is going to be the death of him, possibly for real this time.

Harry’s moans rise and he dips his head down. “Fuck, _harder_.”

“What did I say about asking politely?”

“Pl—” He yelps as Louis slams the word right out of his mouth, their skin slapping together as Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s hips, pressing into his bruises. If he wants souvenirs, Louis will give him souvenirs. 

Louis bends over Harry’s back, kissing his spine, biting him without breaking the skin. He laughs, his lips brushing over Harry's shoulder. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch it.”

“Please,” Harry manages, gasping. “Oh god, right there, please.”

He does it again, snapping his hips into Harry, and he knows already he’s not going to last much longer if they keep up this particular game.

“God, Harry, you feel so fucking good.” Harry just lets out another broken groan in reply, and Louis gives in. “Wanna come?”

“ _Please._ ”

“Okay. Touch yourself, baby. Go ahead.”

Harry raises a shaking hand to palm himself as Louis drives into him. It doesn’t take long to push him to the edge; he’s been there so long, he’s practically delirious as Louis fucks him deep down into the mattress. His voice rises to a crescendo with every thrust until he comes with a shuddering cry, clenching around Louis; the sound of Harry finally breaking, waves of pleasure rippling through him and sweeping him away, is enough for Louis and he finishes right behind him with a quiet groan. 

He doesn't pull out just yet as Harry rises shakily to his knees, his back pressed to Louis' chest. Louis kisses his neck, brushing his hair back from his face. 

"That was..." Harry starts, but just shakes his head. 

"You all right?" 

Harry nods and he's the first to flop down in a boneless mess, Louis pulling out of him. As soon as Louis is beside him, he crawls to him and Louis raises an arm, wrapping it around his shoulders.

They lay there for a while, entangled, breathing hard. 

“Sorry about the sheets,” Harry finally says.

Louis looks down. They are covered in blood, absolutely wrecked, smeared with handprints and who knows what else. Louis snorts with laughter and then they’re _them_ again, no supernatural abilities, just them, giddy and breathless and stupidly in love. Louis is all warm again, not cold and dim like a distant star, but burning and alive and glowing.

Louis shrugs. “Gives you an excuse to go to Bedding World. I know you’ve been dying to for ages.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry says triumphantly. “One thousand thread count, here we come.”

Louis laughs again. "You'll need new jeans, too, after that pair I destroyed."

"They died for the cause." Harry yawns widely and Louis can see every one of his cute teeth. “I’m never moving again,” Harry says sleepily, burrowing his head against Louis’ shoulder. "Ever."

"Never ever? Not even for magic and mischief?"

"Never! Not even for that. I'm officially retiring. Anyone who wants to see me can find me here." His smile fades, however; he frowns a second later, making a face. “Lou, what is that smell?”

He sees it right as Harry says something.  _Oh._

“The reason you’re going to have to move, whether you want to or not,” Louis says, his voice neutral. “Because it seems we have a small problem.”

“Hm?"

“Harold.”

Harry opens his eyes blearily. He follows the direction of where Louis is pointing and sees the curtains are on fire. A thin haze of smoke fills the room and Louis coughs politely. 

Harry lets out a quick shriek of surprise. He leaps up from the bed, tearing out of Louis' arms, running around in a panicked circle, looking for something to throw on the fire. “Oh, shit! Louis, help—”

“Darling, you’re a _witch_.”

“Oh, right!” He points his hands at the curtains. Water shoots from the tips of his fingers in arcing jets, quelling the flames with a hiss. After, their room smells like soggy burned fabric, acrid and strangely sweet at the same time. 

"So is this going to be a habit?” Louis asks, bemused, as Harry siphons the smoke out a crack in the window. “I never even considered it, to be honest. But you said you sometimes don’t have control over your magic.”

Harry nods, biting his lip. “Sorry. It’s just—when it’s so intense—”

“Oh, _I_ see. It’s _my_ fault,” Louis says grandly, licking his lips. He claps his hands together, sitting up against the headboard and pulling the ruined sheets over his legs. “Right, I completely understand. That’s it, then.”

Harry shuts the window, facing Louis with a frown. “What’s it, then?”

“No more intense sex for you. No more blood, either. Just boring old missionary and handjobs. In the dark, too. Yep.” Louis nods matter-of-factly. “Don’t think you’ll ever see _this_ body again. If we’re to keep a handle on all this _magic_ stuff, then…” He trails off as Harry flings himself at Louis, the two of them laughing as they roll around and tangle in their messy bed. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Harry says over and over, kissing Louis everywhere: His eyelids, his chin, his collarbones, his arm. He’s breathless with laughter, mad and dizzied.

“No you’re not,” Louis says. Gently, he grabs Harry’s chin so they’re looking at each other, level with one another. “Never apologize for who you are.”

“Well, in that case…” Harry leans in, eyelids fluttering closed as he kisses Louis softly. When their lips meet, there’s a spark of electricity, a buzz, a tingle.

Louis pulls away in surprise, licking his lips. His eyes sparkle. “Tastes like lemon-lime.”

Harry nods, grinning. “Tastes like magic!”

Louis shakes his head. “Tastes like _you_.”

They take a shower in the downstairs loo after to clean up, Harry washing Louis’ hair for him, the two of them flinging bubbles and water at each other, trying not to laugh too loud, their voices bouncing off the tile. After, Harry grabs a snack from the kitchen to make up for the blood loss, coming back to bed with his hair bound up in a towel and two bananas in his hand with a bottle of some kind of green protein fruit juice.

Louis makes a face at him when he sees it and Harry wags a finger at him. “You want to keep drinking me, I’ve got to be healthy for it.”

“Blergh.” Louis faux-shudders. "I bet even Niall tastes better than that." 

Harry points at the sheets. "Want the blood in them? I can pull it out."

Louis shakes his head. "No thank you, darling, I am full-up." He pats his stomach to prove it, pulling on a shirt and some new pants. 

With a flick of his hand, Harry yanks the sheets off the bed with magic, sending them into the laundry room as he sips from the bottle. In another couple of snaps, there are new sheets on the bed and they’re bounding back onto it, pulling the covers up over each other, snuggling in proper. 

“Want a banana? Oh, wait. Never mind.” Harry laughs. “At some point, I’ll get used to it. I promise.”

“It’s okay.” Louis peels his banana for him, handing it over. “We’ll get used to everything, probably.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Like these little post-orgasm parties. And I don’t mean the bananas.”

“Yeah. If only it was more predictable. We went from flowers outside to flames inside." Harry shakes his head. "Not great, that. And I’ll get used to the other stuff. The sunlight issue, the non-aging, the no-reflection...”

“And I’ll get used to…I dunno, what else, Harry?”

With his mouth full of banana, Harry says, “Pregnancy.” 

Louis isn’t even fazed, on the outside at least. He knows witches of any gender can have children, he read it in one of Harry's books and it was just something he took as a regular occurrence for them. But on the inside, however, a thrill goes through him at the thought of one day not only having children, but having them with Harry. "Yours, I hope," he says. 

Harry rolls his eyes at that. “Obviously, Lewis. Unless there’s something you’ve been hiding from me.”

“Not that I know of. Uh, can I ask about that? About how it works?”

“Well, Louis, when a daddy loves another daddy—”

Now it’s Louis’ turn to roll his eyes. “Ha, ha, ha.” He lays down, his arms behind his head.

“It can only happen during the full moon. It’s kind of nature’s way of replacing the menstrual cycle. Something about the gravitational pull of the moon and our magic, I'm not sure. There are all these theories out there that we get our powers from the moon, but they're unsubstantiated, so who knows? So condoms are a must at that time. Or this tea that I make. Both is probably good, pregnancy runs in my family."

"Naturally," Louis says.

"No, I don't just mean obviously because I'm here. I guess I should say  _fertility_ runs in my family."

"You're preaching to the choir. I've got a whole slew of sort-of siblings." 

"So anyway, everything after that is just the same. We just have to have C-sections."

"Do you mind that?" 

"A little, but it's not as though I can't make the scar go away. I am a witch, after all." Harry shrugs. "It'd be worth it, though. I love babies."

"So you do want some. Eventually, someday." 

"Of course! The sooner the better, to be honest, but I'm not picky. Why?" A sudden look of fearfulness crosses Harry's face and he stops eating mid-banana. "Don't you?"

Louis nods. "Of course! Don't worry, I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page here."

"Okay, good." Harry lets out a long breath. "You had me there for a moment." 

After that, Harry decides to paint his nails and Louis' mind is going around and around, so he plays some games on his phone for a bit until Harry sees the clock on their bedside table and squawks. Once his nails are dry ( _really_ dry, none of that tacky fake-dry shit where you go to bed and then they get smudged as you're falling asleep), Louis brushes his curls for him with his fingers until there aren't any tangles left. His body is a beautiful painting of bruises and bite-marks, a kaleidoscope of Louis' love and adoration. 

He's not sure why he says it. Maybe it's the dark, or the late hour, or the quiet. It ought to have been resolved earlier, with all of this, but he has a feeling it won't be resolved until he says something. 

“I almost did it once, you know.”

Harry twists to look at Louis’ face. “Did what?”

“Kill myself.”

Harry doesn’t even know how to react to that, Louis can see it in his face. “What happened?” he asks softly.

Louis shrugs. “It was before I met Niall, early in the 1800s. I just…got low, I guess. Couldn’t see a reason to keep going. The vampires in London, they were after me, and I just wanted out. I was tired. I’d been around for a _long_ time.”

Eight hundred years. Two hundred years since he’d opened up and been with somebody, since he’d had a friend to confide in, just someone to talk to and care about. He'd nearly gone insane. Maybe he had and had never realized it until he met Niall. 

Harry doesn't say anything, just waits, listens. Louis loves that about him. 

"See, vampires get like this a lot. It's hard when you've got forever to look forward to, but all the people you love keep slipping away. But it's also really hard to kill yourself. Can't poison yourself, can't use a gun or a noose, none of that. There's only one guaranteed way."

 

“Sunlight.”

Louis nods. "I was just gonna stay up one night and watch the sun rise. Let it eat me, turn me to ash, and then I could just blow away in the wind and be nothing. At the time, I thought that was the best idea—to be nothing when I had spent _so_ long being something, someone, a person with a heart that could be broken and thoughts that I didn’t always understand. That’s the thing they don’t tell you, you know? How _heavy_ it can be sometimes, existence. There are days when being alive can just…” He smacks his fist into hand. “Crush you.”

“It’s like _Howl’s Moving Castle_ ,” Harry says. “‘A heart’s a heavy burden.’”

“Exactly, but like… _life’s_ a heavy burden. Especially for eight hundred years.”

“So what changed your mind?”

“Life might be a heavy burden, but after eight hundred years, you get used to having one and the idea of not having one anymore, just blinking out of existence with no one to remember me or anything, scared the piss out of me. I got scared, decided not to go through with it, and kept going.” Louis sighs. “Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t do it and I’m kind of sad for myself, to be honest. I was really confused back then. Really lonely. It’s lucky I met Niall when I did.”

He looks down at Harry, tugging him a little closer. “I’m really glad I didn’t, now that I know you. I think it would have been the saddest thing, to have never met you.”

“Thanks, Louis,” Harry says, smiling even as he yawns. “I’m glad you stuck around, too. I don’t know what my life would be like now. I don’t even remember what it was like before, just me and Zayn and hiding the magic. It all feels a bit empty now. Distant.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” He kisses Harry on the top of his head. “I love you. Go to sleep, now.”  _It's over. It's all out there and it's over and it's us, now. Time to go forward._

“Don’t wanna.”

“You have work.”

“Don’t care.”

“Mm-hm,” Louis says, smiling, in awe for perhaps the millionth time that he can love someone as much as he does Harry. “We’ll see about that in the morning.”

There’s no answer. He looks down, but Harry is already asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Harry is, of course, late for work, stumbling around with his curls askew, barely awake by the time he leaves with a cuppa in hand, and that means he doesn’t get the chance to do what he wanted to. Still, he can’t be all that upset, as he’s covered in delicious bruises and barely even managed to leave their bed without disentangling from Louis first. It’s easy to forget sometimes that they aren’t just in their own little word.

Having no choice, he waits until his lunch hour instead, driving Zayn’s car to the beach over the limit to scour it for a single seashell: a bittersweet murex.

He finds it beside a clump of seaweed. He holds it up and dumps the sand out of it, holding it up to his ear. At first, all he hears is the ocean, the wind rushing into the shell. But then there’s Zayn’s voice, like he’s standing right beside him, whispering in his ear.

“Sounds great, mate! Tell everyone I’ll be there. Can’t wait to meet this Liam bloke, he sounds dead weird and I know how much that works for you.” Harry smiles. “Anyway, see you! Don’t bother picking me up, I’ll swim closer and walk.”

He hangs onto the seashell, bringing it back with him. After all, they won’t need for a while. Harry drives back, texting Louis when he gets back to the vet’s office.

_Zayn’ll be round for Ni’s bday tomorrowww_

Louis sends back a string of emojis.

“Thumbs up, waves, surfboard, party cracker, birthday cake, three sunglasses faces, and sixteen exclamation points,” Harry reads aloud. “Okay.”

Harry sends back three rainbows, a bottle of champagne, the magic ball, and a sparkly heart.

_Lou x is typing…_

Pointing finger, a-okay hand sign, and five tongues.

_Lou x is typing…_

Kiss mark. Winky face.

_this is rly why you didn’t off yourself, isn’t it. emojis._

_ouch too soon babe_

Harry rolls his eyes. _Been 200 yrs_

_was like yesterday for me :(_

_ha ha, v funny_

He sends the old man a few times.

“Hey, Haz?”

Harry looks up. His co-worker Priya is standing there. “Can you give me a hand? We’ve got a litter of puppies to bring in and Chloe’s on break.”

“An entire litter?” Harry squeaks.

“Yep. Need their injections. I just need your help hauling them in, they’re squirmy buggers. Me and their owner only have so many hands and he’s not got a crate for any of them.”

“Be right there.”

Quickly, Harry looks down at his phone. Louis has since sent a laughing-crying emoji, along with a dozen coffins, skulls, swords, and footballs. Harry has to bite his lip when he thinks about his thousand-year-old vampire boyfriend giggling over what emojis to send. What a world it is that he lives in.

_g2g, puppies need me_

_ok love you !_ And then, of course, a second later: _don’t you dare bring any home, no kittens too_

_but they NEED ME lou_

_no !!! >:(_

Harry sends a multitude of sad faces before he scrambles up from his desk to help Priya with what ends up being nine sheep dog puppies, all of whom are overjoyed to meet new people as their mum watches with wary eyes and their farmer owner tells Harry all of their names—they’re all named after famous military leaders which has Harry in hysterics, especially as he’s holding a wiggling Lafayette who is trying valiantly to lick his face. They’re all as heroic as their namesakes and Priya sends them all off with puppy ice cream lollies.

Despite waking up late, it’s a pretty good day—and he’s _going_ to adopt those kittens, no matter what Louis says.

He drives home to pick up Niall, who blasts bubblegum pop music so loud on the way to the market that the windows rattle. Harry turns the music down just a tiny bit, so they only have to shout a  _little_ to hear each other instead of scream a lot.

"How was work?" Niall asks. 

“Good. Boudicca and Joan of Arc chewed on my boots and broke the laces.” He looks down at his feet and fixes the problems with magic, his boots sparkling. “And Churchill peed on Priya.”

Niall flashes him a look of alarm. “Now that sounds like a party.”

“They were puppies.”

“Ah. What was their mum’s name?”

“Cinnamon.”

“Makes sense.” Niall hands Harry a piece of paper. “This is everything we need at the store."

Despite their unusual circumstances, they can’t all just subside on blood and whatever Niall eats when he’s out in the woods. Niall asked him once why he can’t just conjure food and Harry got through only a quarter of a lecture on why it doesn’t work because it’s magic, it’s proteins are grounded in nothingness, when Niall turned and walked out of the room. Harry frowns at the memory. He’d only been talking for twenty minutes, it’s not like he was going on and on. 

Niall, of course, steers the trolley as they go through the aisles, Harry carefully reading labels while Niall zooms up and down, nearly crashing into couples and mums who are out picking things up in the afternoon. They shoot him glares while he sort-of shrugs apologetically.

When they’re about halfway done, Harry crumples up the fist, handing it back to Niall. “Rest of this stuff is in the garden.”

“Yeah, I know. But I wasn’t sure if it was _your_ garden or _our_ garden.”

Harry shakes his head at him. “Niall, we’ve lived together almost a year. You don’t have to ask for my vegetables and herbs.”

“Well, shit. I never knew how you really felt about me, Harry, lettin’ me have your vegetables and herbs. Let’s name the date, then. Start picking out curtains and that.”

Harry grins, rolling his eyes. “Please stop talking and just take the vegetables.”

While they’re waiting in line, Niall grabs a handful of cans from the cooler beside the magazines, dumping them onto the counter. They’re all energy drinks, the kind claiming _extreme_ protein and _extreme_ vitamins for _extreme_ athletes and the like. Harry raises his eyebrows.

“Tea and coffee isn’t cutting it anymore,” Niall says. “If you’re going to make all that fucking noise in the middle of the night, pun definitely intended, then I’m going to need to get serious.”

“Extremely serious, it seems,” Harry says.

Niall leans close, pulling at the bottoms of his eyes. “Look how red they are. I haven’t slept this badly since my first year of changing.”

Harry bites the inside of his cheek as they get up to the register. “Sorry.”

“You know, I really don’t think you are.”

He’s not, but he’s nice so he isn’t going to say so. “I usually put a spell on the room so sound doesn’t escape, but uh…last night, I got sort of caught up in the moment. Forgot.”

“Caught up in the moment. _Huh._ ” Niall rolls his eyes. “Trust me, I know. I was practically there with how loud you were being. Which, by the way, you two…I don’t know what you do in there, and I _don’t_ want to, but sometimes…” Niall shakes his head. “Sure you aren’t the werewolf, mate?”

Harry clears his throat, feeling the heat rise from his neck to his cheeks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, yeah?” Niall closes his eyes and starts making a _ridiculous_ sound, gasping and groaning and crying out like some sort of animal, his voice rising before he lets out a cartoony wail, trailing off into a howl. “That’s what it sounds like.”

Harry, as well as everyone in a five-meter radius, is staring at him, at _them_. Harry is frozen in place, cringing so hard he’s sure his ancestors can feel it. “Why,” he says bleakly.

“Vengeance. I happen to like sleeping,” Niall says quietly, “instead of being woken up from a really nice dream to the sounds of you having it off at top volume—”

“Niall.”

“I’m serious, we're talking just getting absolutely _nailed_ from the sounds of it—”

“ _Niall!_ ” Harry hisses as they get up to the shopboy. He’s looking at them wide eyes, a red tint touching his cheeks.

“We’re practicing for a drama class,” Niall says to him, straight-faced, as he starts piling more of their groceries up there. “Putting on a stage production of _The Wolfman_ for Halloween next month. I’m him. The werewolf.”

Harry glares at him. Everyone is still looking at them like they’ve just pushed down their skinnies and started fucking right there, and honestly, he doesn’t blame them. Louis is always telling him life isn’t the movies, and he’s right for once. _Doing a bit like When Harry Met Sally,_ Harry thinks, scowling. _The nerve. If anyone’s gonna play Meg Ryan, it’s me._

“Oh. Erm…have you been acting long?”

Niall coughs, trying not to smile. “Nope. Just a few months.”

“Oh,” the shopboy says, “well, you’re uh, you’re great.”

“Thanks!”

Harry pays because Niall forgot his wallet and then as soon as they’re out in the car park, Niall is laughing so hard he chokes, coughing and gasping all at once.

Harry hits him with a bag of carrots. “You _dick_ ,” he says, aware that his hair is changing color right there in public, out on the street of their tragically small town. “You want us to get caught?”

“No, obviously, but the look on your _face_ —” He coughs a few more times, then stands up straight, saying in a breathless voice, “ _Oh yeah, right there, oh, fuck, Louis, harder_ ”, getting louder with every word, until Harry hits him twice more with the bag of carrots and snaps his fingers, silencing him.

Niall’s eyes widen and he claps his hands around his throat, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. He frowns, pointing at Harry. Luckily, he can read lips. _You said you’d never magic me without my permission!_

“Yeah,” Harry says smugly, “that was before you started mimicking me in public.” He twirls a hand at himself, changing his red hair back to brown.

Niall shrugs. _Can’t help it when it’s all I hear._

They pile the groceries into the car and Harry only takes the spell off Niall when he promises to play Queen, the two of them singing along to “Don’t Stop Me Now” at the top of their lungs, all forgiven. By the time they get back, it’s late afternoon, the house dark on their hill, clouds overhead and the sun dipping lower behind the horizon. It looks a little spooky, or it would, if Harry didn’t know any better. They’re spooky, being monsters and all, but they’re _nice_ spooky.

Niall’s birthday is the very next day, and as they unload the bags, Harry is deep in thought about the wolfsbane potion and the spell to make it work, going over calculations in his head. He hopes that this time, it will work the way he wants it to with how he’s planning to change it. He’s taken too much time and messed it up too many times already. The full moon is in six days and he can’t afford to waste this chance, even if Niall _can_ be a right prick sometimes.

“So yeah, they called me back,” Niall is saying as they climb the steps, bringing Harry’s focus back to earth. “And I got the job.”

“Niall! That’s great,” Harry says, smiling and leaning over to bump him with his shoulder. “When do you start?”

“Monday.” He makes a face. “I don’t want to.”

“Niall.”

“I _know_ , but _front of house_? I’m a chef, Harry. It’s embarrassing. I should be in the kitchen.” Niall reaches into the mailbox on the wall beside the door, rooting around inside.

“It’s a foot in the door. It’s better than nothing!”

“That’s what Lou and Liam said, too.” He sighs loudly. “I just want to cook and I want to make my own rules. Why is that so difficult?”

“Well, you could always…” Harry unlocks the front door with a snap, opening it with magic. “Open your own place.”

Niall laughs shortly. “Harreh, I can’t even remember to pay the bills here until the day before they’re due. How could I run my own place? And where would I get the money?”

Harry nods, because he’s right, he’s got a point. Still, it’s nice to dream.

They set down the groceries on the table, Niall going through the mail. “Louis sure gets a lot of weird stuff,” he says, flipping through the envelopes and magazines. “Who knew a dead guy could be so popular?”

Harry nods, not really listening, going through the groceries on the table, sorting out what needs to go in the refrigerator and what goes in the pantry. Only then is his gaze drawn to a small sphere shining in the center of it, just sitting there on the dark wood, unobtrusive and ordinary. It looks like something David Bowie would be handing to him in _Labyrinth_ , offering him his dreams. At first, he doesn’t get it because it’s been so long since he’s seen one.

The recognition hits at the same time that Niall sees it. He sets the mail down. “What’s this?” he asks, reaching for it.

Harry goes cold all over. “No!” he shouts, dropping the carrots and lunging for it. His fingers graze it at the same time that Niall’s do, and they both disappear with a _pop!_

* * *

It’s bright, he knows that first and foremost. Harry blinks rapidly, his eyes adjusting slowly as he squints. Shapes come to him gradually and he realizes where he’s at: A grassy clearing on a cliff.  _The_ clearing, to be more specific. The clearing he’s only been in twice before, the clearing where he never wants to be unless he’s a good deal older and they’re inviting him to join.

Niall is standing beside him, eyes wide. “What,” he says faintly, looking around.

“It’s—”

“Harry Styles,” a grim voice calls. “We’ve been expecting you.”

He and Niall turn around. Standing in the clearing beneath a weeping willow are five older people, two men and three women. Harry recognizes them immediately and he winces at the fact that Niall is standing beside him right now because it is so, _so_ not allowed.

The woman in the middle frowns quizzically at Niall. “Who is this?”

“He’s no one, he—”

“Jeez, thanks, Haz,” Niall says, rolling his eyes. “And who’re you, then?”

She’s tall, with cool blue eyes and greying brown hair that falls farther than her hips, bound back from her face with several silver clasps. “My name is Catherine Alderson,” she says, only somewhat politely. “And I am the High Priestess of the Greater Witches’ Council of the United Kingdom and Ireland.”

Niall looks at Harry and he grimaces. Niall nods slowly, looking at her. “Oh,” he says, his voice small. “Okay.”

“I’ll send him back,” Harry announces. He looks at Niall, touching his shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone about this until I get back,” he whispers. He doesn’t want the others, specifically Louis, to know about this, about the Council, until he can be sure of what they want. It's not that he doesn't trust him, but they're the highest of the high in his world and if they want something, he doubts it's something good. 

“But why—”

“Just promise me,” Harry says urgently.

“Yeah, okay,” Niall says, nodding seriously. “I promise.”

“Okay. I’m going to send you back. All right?”

Niall nods and Harry snaps his fingers. He disappears, leaving only a tiny breeze in his wake to suggest he was there at all. Harry turns back to the Council, his heart beating hard. He imagines this is what it must’ve felt like to be called in to Dumbledore’s office in _Harry Potter,_ his mind whirling with everything he could have possibly done. 

“Harry,” Catherine says, smiling. There’s not an ounce of warmth in it. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Hi,” he says, nodding. “You, too.” He was thirteen years old the last time he saw them, so he can’t imagine they even recognize him, but somehow, they just know these things.

“We weren’t aware you were keeping such friendly company with werewolves these days.”

Harry inhales a little quickly, and he’s sure they notice that. There isn’t much they _don’t_ notice. He folds his hands as calmly as he can in front of himself, taking a deep breath. _Okay,_ he thinks to himself. _Think. What would Louis do?_ “So? Just the one. As far as I’m aware, there’s no tenet against it.”

“There isn’t, no.” _Yet._ “I’m sure you’re wondering why we summoned you.”

That’s obvious, so Harry doesn’t say anything. He just waits, eyebrows raised.

“It has recently come to our attention that you are living with a vampire.”

Harry stares at them. “So you do know they’re real.”

“Of course they’re real, the same way we are real. The same way sirens and werewolves are.” Catherine smiles again, her eyes glimmering. “The same way ghosts are. But I’m sure you already know that.”

“Well, yeah, I knew that, but…” He stops, trailing off. He doesn’t like the way she said that. _Vampires, sirens, werewolves,_ all of the supernatural he’s familiar with. And then with that smile, that look in her eyes— _Ghosts._

_Ghost._

A chill goes straight down his back. “That’s what Liam is?”

“Well, yes. You didn’t know?" She makes a kind of disappointed face, but her eyes tell him she's not sorry at all. "Hm. I do hope our best and brightest isn’t losing his edge.”

 _That_ gets him. She’s never been nice for as long as he can remember, but this is too much. Harry frowns, his mind racing with thoughts of Liam, but he pushes them away because he needs to focus on this, on the Council. He can’t let his guard down, can’t let them see him slip.

“And here I thought you _didn’t_ know who I was spending my time with these days. Nice try.” He folds his arms over his chest. “All right, so I live with a vampire, a werewolf, and a—a ghost. So what? Why am I here?”

“We don’t care about the others. You’re here because of the vampire. Specifically, because of your connection with the vampire.”

His mouth goes dry, but he just licks his lips and shrugs. “What are you talking about?” 

“What is the nature of your relationship?”

“None of your business,” Harry replies coolly, though he is feeling anything but cool. “Was that it?”

“We’ve had dealings with this vampire before,” one of the men says. He's got a dark beard and even darker eyes. Declan, Harry remembers, from Belfast. “Because of his discrepancies, a number of witches were put to the stake.”

“In the _1600s_ ,” Harry snaps. “Nothing recently—”

“So you know about that,” Catherine says. “How curious.”

“Of _course_ I do. He told me. Not that it’s any of your business, because it _isn’t_.” He shakes his head. “What is this really all about?”

“Have you shared any of your blood with this vampire?”

Harry stares at them. “What?”

“I hardly think the question needs repeating.”

“No,” Harry says, aware of how annoyed his mum would be if she knew he’d lied to the Council. “But even if I had, I wouldn’t tell you, because like I said, it isn’t _any of your business_.” He can’t help himself; he lets his arms fall, his fingers clenched into fists as he says, “You summon me out of nowhere just to interrogate me, and for what?”

“Harry,” a softer voice says. It’s Gwyn, the Welsh witch. Her red hair hangs in a thick braid over her shoulder. “We’re not here to…accuse you of anything.”

“Really? Because it doesn’t feel that way!”

“I don’t think we need to tell you,” Gwyn says, “how vital it is that we keep our magic a secret. We may be living in modern times now, but that doesn’t make the danger any less real. Should the world learn of us, there would no doubt be lethal repercussions. Overall, we must protect our own. That has always been our goal. You know that, of course.”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry says bitterly, nodding. He can’t help but glare at Catherine as he does. She meets his gaze with a measured look. “I would never do anything to put myself or witches in general in danger. You should all know that.”

“And we do,” Gwyn says, nodding firmly. “We just thought you should be aware.”

“Of what?” Harry asks.

“The risk,” she says.

“And consequences,” Catherine adds.

“Well,” Harry says briskly, choosing to ignore that last little jab, “I am aware. I was even before you called me here, but thank you so much for taking time to tell me. You don’t have anything to worry about from him, or me.”

“You cannot guarantee that—” Catherine starts, but Harry interrupts her, to everyone’s surprise—including his own.

“If that’s all,” he says, heart racing, “I’ll be going.” When they don’t say anything to stop him, he raises a hand. “His name is Louis, by the way.” He snaps his fingers and vanishes in a cloud of pink smoke.

Niall is waiting for him when he gets back, his arms folded over his chest. He put the groceries away, Harry notices, so at least there’s that.

“What the fuck was that,” Niall asks as soon as Harry appears.

“Not now,” he says, uncharacteristically brusque, as he leaves the kitchen. He heads for the stairs. He can’t stop his hands from shaking. That was not how any of that was supposed to go, he could be in so much trouble and he badmouthed the Council, to _their faces._ He makes a mental note to call his mum, to be the first to tell her he might very well be expelled from magical society in an official capacity.

Though that seems to be the least of his issues.

Niall follows him, frowning. “Harry, what’s wrong? What’d they say to you?”

“Is Liam here?”

“No, he’s at work. Why?”

“Where does he work? Do you know?”

“At the pub, you know that.” Niall takes a couple of the steps at the same time, catching Harry by the elbow. “What is going on?”

“You’ve been paying the bills,” Harry says, dizzy with how fast his heart and mind are going. “Has he been giving you money?”

“Well, no, but I figured it was just because he was new, they might not have gotten him on direct deposit—”

“Even if he’s not, they should be giving him paychecks. They can’t _not_. So where’s his money?”

“Under his mattress? How should I know?”

Harry turns away and goes into his former room, now Liam’s. It’s empty of all personal effects, save Harry’s that he has yet to move out and the clothes Liam brought with him that are in the closet. That’s it. The only other things he has are what they gave him for his birthday two weeks before. It’s sparse, almost chilling in how empty and devoid it is of personality. It looks as though it’s caught in a transition between Harry and perhaps a minimalist stranger with an affinity for snapbacks. 

Harry reaches out with his magic, letting it flow across every surface. Everybody leaves something small behind, a type of fingerprint of their energy that is theirs alone. It’s everywhere they go, no matter what. He picks up his own energy and Niall’s first and foremost, as they’re standing in the room, but then he gets the senses underneath: Louis, from when he was in there with Harry when the room was still his; Zayn, from knocking on the door and dumping Harry’s laundry on his bed back in the day; he can even pick up faint traces of great-great-aunt Delilah if he tries hard, his face screwing up with concentration.

No Liam, at all, anywhere. Which is _impossible._

“Niall,” Harry asks. “How did you meet Liam?”

“Through Louis. We had drinks together, it became a weekly thing.”

“And how did he meet him?”

 “He…” Niall frowns. “I actually don’t know. He never said.”

“All this time and he’s never once mentioned how he met Liam?”

“Why don’t yeh just ask him?”

“I will,” Harry says resolutely, leaving the room. As he goes, he lets his magic flow throughout the rest of the house. No Liam in the sitting room, the kitchen, the loo, the hallways… It’s like he was never there, like he never existed. Slowly, the truth is beginning to shine through for Harry. What he doesn’t understand is how it took him this long to notice, to figure it out. It’s Niall and Louis all over again.

Niall trails after him back down the stairs. “I am so confused,” he announces. “Where are you going with this, Haz? Really? Because you seem upset and this is very un-Harry of you—”

Harry whirls on Niall, still letting his magic fill every space of the house, searching for any minuscule hint of him.

“Did you know,” Niall says, pointing at Harry, “that your eyes get this rainbow sheen when you do that? It’s dead weird. Pretty, but weird.” He frowns. “What _are_ you doing?”

“Searching for traces of energy. He’s nowhere in this house. There’s just this…whisper of a presence. There should be finger and hand prints. Like when you’re a kid and you stick your hands in paint and slap them on some paper. Y’know? Like you, you’re everywhere. But with Liam, it’s like…it’s like when you breathe on glass and draw in the moisture, and then it’s gone.”

“How…” Niall shakes his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Exactly.”

“What made you want to search for this?”

“The Council. They’re kind of like witch government. They’re the ones who regulate the tenets and make sure everyone’s being safe and responsible with their magic.”

“And if they’re not?”

“You know how there are like, wizard police in Harry Potter?”

Niall’s eyes get huge. “Are you saying there are witch police?”

“Sort of.” He runs a hand through his curls, shaking his hair. “The point is, they’re keeping tabs on me, apparently.”

“You’re wanted by the witch police?”

“ _No_ , the Council. Well, I’m not wanted, but you get the idea. This was like a warning, I guess.”

“But why?”

“Something to do with Louis, I don’t know. Anyway, they told me Liam’s a—well, he’s a ghost. Now I can’t help but come to the same conclusion.”

“ _What?_ A ghost?” Niall laughs, scoffing. “How would he be a ghost? He has a job. He drives. He left his old flat and moved in with us. They can’t do all that.” He pauses, biting his lip. “I mean. Right? Can they?”

“I have no earthly idea.” Harry opens the door to their room, to where Louis is just beginning to wake up, rubbing his eyes awake.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough. When he sees Niall following Harry, he pushes up onto one elbow, leaning back against the headboard. “What’s with the Irish invasion?”

“How did you meet Liam?” Harry asks.

Louis flops back down, an arm over his eyes. “You came in here to talk about _Liam_?”

“Why else would I come in here?”

“Oh, I dunno, to say _hi_ to your boyfriend, maybe, as he’s not getting any younger.”

“Or older,” Harry says, his lips quirking up despite everything.

“ _Good morning_ or _how’d you sleep,_ maybe something along those lines. I would even accept _thanks for the earth-shattering lay last night_.” He moves to look at Niall. “Pretend you didn’t hear that.”

He winces. “I already am, every moment of every day. You know what it’s like, having super werewolf-hearing and living with you two?”

“You’re not the only one with super hearing,” Louis says with an absolutely filthy grin. “And you’re not exactly an angel yourself, princess.”

Harry raises a hand. “I object to you calling Niall that in front of me.”

“You’re right, you’re my only princess.” He sighs and sits up, ruffling a hand through his hair. “Now, could I at least get a cuppa before we have some deep philosophical talk about Liam, of all people?”

“’Course,” Harry says, snapping his fingers. They can’t see it, but he knows the kettle is filling itself with water and settling down to warm on the stovetop. He goes to the bed and leans over to kiss Louis on his forehead, because he hasn’t even brushed his teeth and blood-breath is not nearly as appealing as it is the night before. “Hi, good morning, how’d you sleep,” he says, kissing him once for each greeting. “And thanks for the earth-shattering lay last night.”

“Hello. You smell like puppies. I slept amazing.” Louis smiles as he runs a hand through some of Harry’s curls spilling over his shoulder to hang in his face. “And we’re still not getting those kittens, no matter how much you flatter me.”

Harry wants to stomp his foot and plant his hands on his hips and really work up a winning argument, but he can’t, not now, not when his head is chock-full of thoughts about the Council and Liam. Even kittens will have to wait. 

They wait until the kettle whistles and Harry brings in the cup with magic, presenting it to Louis with a slight bow. “There,” he says. “Now. How’d you meet Liam?”

“Ta, Haz.” Louis takes a long drink. “Right. Um. Well. That’s a bit hard to explain, isn’t it?”

“How is it hard to explain?”

“Well, thing is, I can’t remember. Which is ridiculous, right? I can still remember things from the 1100s and earlier, but I can’t remember meeting him. I just remember one day I had a friend named Liam and the three of us were spending time together at the pubs in London and crashing on each other’s couches.” He shrugs. “I just chalked it up to being as old as I am, and just my mind deteriorating or something, that maybe it was time to throw in the towel and finally off myself for real. And then I met you.”

Niall pretends to throw up behind him as Harry smiles at that. He can’t help himself, the fond way that Louis looks at him causes him to unravel, no matter the moment or scenario. “So he just…appeared,” Harry says.

Both Louis and Niall nod. “I always assumed we just met him at a pub. Playing snooker or something.” Louis shrugs. “It all sort of blends together when you’re this old.”

Harry pulls out his phone, searching for Liam’s name, which he can’t believe he’s never done before. While he waits for the results, he reaches out with his magic again, just to see. He can’t find it anywhere in their room, which he doesn’t find unusual—

Until he does.

He frowns. It’s tiny, a speck, a thread, wrapped around the living entity of Louis’ spirit. Like a single blue stone in the shining river that’s his existence. Harry reaches for it and he can feel it already, that it’s Liam. That’s where he is in their house, in their grand scheme.

Harry looks up. “He’s attached to you.”

Louis pauses, his cup halfway to his mouth. He raises his eyebrows. “Sorry?”

Harry looks down at his phone and suddenly, everything makes no sense and yet, it makes absolute sense as well. He starts to laugh because he honestly doesn't know what else to do. 

_Human until proven otherwise._

Just then, the door opens and footsteps echo. “Hey,” Liam calls, setting down bags and keys in a rush of noise. “I got that stuff you asked for, Harry!” There’s a quick beat of silence as he waits, listening. “Hello?”

“He’s dead,” Harry says, handing his phone to Niall so he can see. “He’s been dead for almost three years.”

Louis stares at them both. He’s still holding his cup like he’s going to take a drink, but if he was, he’s forgotten. “I’m confused,” he says.

“That makes all of us.”

 


	2. dreaming about who we used to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay angst warning again....just a bit. it's all going to be FINE, i promise. oh and there are drugs in this one. just a quick warning for anyone who might need it.
> 
> also thanks to naiadique @ tumblr for chatting with me about auras!! you were very helpful and lovely

As the four of them look around at each other in the sitting room, the only sound the grandfather clock ticking its way through another minute, Harry can’t help but think _I’ve seen this movie before._

Liam looks at the three of them, nervously fiddling with a button on his shirt. “Erm. You said you wanted to talk, but you’ve just been staring at me for ten minutes.”

“We’re just…” Louis gestures vaguely, frowning. “Trying to figure it all out.”

Niall claps his hands together, bringing them up to his mouth. “How do we say this,” he murmurs against his clasped palms. “I mean…you obviously don’t know, otherwise you would have said something. Harry would have sensed it, he’s good at that.”

“He sensed _something_ ,” Louis immediately says in his defense. “He told me. I did, too. We just weren’t sure what, because we’d never encountered it before. Now, it all makes sense. Sort of.”

“Right,” Liam says, holding up his hands. “Would someone _please_ tell me what’s going on?”

“You’re dead,” Niall blurts out. “You’ve been dead for three years and you’re a ghost.” He drops his hands into his lap helplessly. “You’ve been _Sixth Sense-_ ing us, mate.”

Louis leans his head back on the couch, a hand over his eyes. “Well done, Niall. Tactful as always.”

“What? He wanted to know. And better he hears it from us.”

Liam has gone considerably pale at the news. His eyes bounce around, darting to the floor, and Harry can just see the wheels going in his head. “I…” he says, short of breath. “That’s not—that doesn’t make any sense, I—” He’s gone so pale, he’s nearly translucent. Harry opens his mouth, reaches for him, but he flickers once, twice, and vanishes right in front of their eyes.

“What just happened?” Louis asks, sitting up. “Niall, did you kill him? His spirit, I mean? Oh god, you did.”

“Me? How is this my fault?”

He hits Niall’s knee with a pillow. “You prat, he didn’t know he was dead! That was probably the only thing keeping him here and you just sent him to Ghost Land or wherever with _that_ shocking bit of news and now he’s alone, I bet.”

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I think I know what’s going on here.”

“What?”

“That…bit of him that’s attached to you. That’s what’s keeping him here.”

"Explain."

It all makes sense in Harry’s head, all the bits and pieces connecting in a glorious puzzle. “All right, listen. I found a few articles on him and his girlfriend—apparently they died in a car crash. Got hit by a drunk driver. That’s why she seemed familiar to me when he showed us her picture. I remember it being on the news.”

Niall frowns. “You watch the news?”

“I did three years ago, yeah. Now I’m a little busy being flatmates with a vampire, werewolf, and a _ghost_.” Harry shakes his head. “It was this big sad thing and everyone went out and put flowers where they’d crashed.”

His face falls. “That’s sad, Harry.”

“Yes, it is. But see, I don’t think he knows he’s dead. Or maybe some days he does know, and others he doesn’t?” Harry shakes his head. “I’m not sure. I’ve never met a ghost before, only heard stuff about them. One of my aunts, she told me that spirits will attach themselves to things, maybe items or areas, where they feel a similar energy. Like cemeteries. I guess in this case, the energy is death. Like calls to like.”

“And you’re saying,” Louis says, putting it together, “that he attached to me because… _I’m_ dead.”

“Technically. Sort of. You’re undead but yeah, basically.”

“And this connection is keeping him here?”

“Hang on,” Niall says. “How do you not know you’re dead?”

“It may have happened in an instant. His life just went out, like a light.” Harry snaps his fingers for emphasis and the curtains stir. “And I think…it’s got something to do with us, too.”

“Now you’ve lost me.”

“I think…we didn’t know he was dead, right? So we didn’t treat him like he was. We treated him like he was alive because to us, he was! And I think somehow, that made him forget. We didn’t treat him any different so for the first time in a long time, he _felt_ alive. He started to believe it.”

“Kind of like me,” Louis says. When Niall looks at him, he shrugs. “Sorry, mate. But it’s like…I dunno. Something about Harry’s magic—it’s like the stuff life is made of, all sun and warmth and earth. And that’s how it makes you feel.”

Niall shakes his head. “No, I completely understand. I feel it too, even though I’m alive. There’s something about your energy, Haz. You’re like a shot of espresso to the spirit, or whatever.”

Harry smiles at that because they’re so _ridiculous_ —none of them have magic and just by being around them, he feels the same way. He’s pretty sure the word they’re looking for is ‘friendship’, but if they want to chalk it up to magic, that’s fine too.

“So I guess now,” Harry says, “we wait.”

“For what?” Niall asks.

“For Liam to come back. Who knows how long it’ll take? He could get lost wherever it is that spirits go.”

Niall shakes his head. “I can’t believe Liam is Bruce Willis.” He punches the couch in excitement. “It’s the greatest plot twist of all time!”

They sit there in the sitting room for a while. Eventually, Niall turns the telly on and they catch a bit of the news, which feels weird, now that Harry knows he saw his dead friend on it once. Every now and again the temperature goes down and the lights flicker, the chandelier overhead shifting like it’s been hit with a breeze, but that’s it. They keep waiting.

Finally, after almost an hour, the lights flicker with an audible buzzing sound and there’s a _whoosh_ of air as Liam appears before them again. “Oh! Hey.” He pats himself, still looking somewhat unsettled, but mostly relieved. “I’m back, then.”

“Where’d you go?” Louis asks, his voice a whisper.

“Dunno. Kind of misty and light there. Had to sort of…” He gestures vaguely. “Put myself back together again.” He looks at Harry. “So I’m dead.” He shakes his head. “It feels weird to say that out loud. _Dead_. Like there’s this disconnect. I know I am, I know what it means, but I don’t feel any different. Just a little less…present.”

“Cognitive dissonance.” Harry nods slowly. “Yeah. We’re really sorry.”

“No, it’s…it’s all right. I knew, somewhere in the back of my head. It’s just like you said. I forgot. It’s easy to forget things when you’re dead, you’re sort of half-in and half-out of that misty place. I didn’t feel real most of the time.” He shrugs. “And I guess I’ve actually been going there a lot, but it’s like whenever I did, I would fall asleep inside myself and forget. I managed to make up a whole life.”

He smiles, but it’s bewildered and awestruck. “Isn’t it strange? I know I’m dead, I have to be now after doing all that, and I know I was just forgetting. You told me that life wasn’t real, and I _know_ that, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like it is? It’s like…when your parents tell you the tooth fairy’s not real. You feel like you should know that, but you believed it for so long that it feels impossible that it’s _not_ true. Does any of that make sense?”

Harry nods. “You’re so used to being one thing that you still feel that way, even though you know you’re something else now. Like your job. You never were working, but you’d managed to fool yourself into thinking you were. You believed it so hard that it became true. You believed in yourself so much that you believed yourself _alive_. I think that’s powerful, Liam. That’s magic.”

“That’s _mental_ ,” Niall says, shaking his head. “So we’re still short a paycheck?”

“Not quite,” Harry says, nudging him. “Mr. Front-of-House.”

Niall groans at that and Louis ruffles his hair. “About time. And good thing, too, since Liam’s…y’know. Off the job market.”

“But you can drive,” Niall points out. “That’s what I don’t get.”

“It’s the same thing,” Harry interjects. “He thought he was alive, so he could do things, like change his clothes, drive, go places. He’s not bound to a particular place; if he was, it’d be the road where he and his girlfriend were killed. But he’s bound to Louis. He found him, attached himself to his energy. So as long as he stays nearby, I think he’s all right.”

“This is dead weird,” Louis says. He doesn’t say it rudely, just curious, wondering, because it _is_ weird. To go about like nothing ever happened. To think you’re one thing when you’re the complete opposite. Harry can relate. He didn’t know he was a witch until he was seven; he didn’t know he was gay until a couple years later. It’s strange, the convictions people cling to in the hope of finding normalcy, in the desire to carry on like nothing’s wrong. Sort of like them, when they were all pretending to be fully human, to be normal. It’s why he can’t be mad, can’t even be all that surprised anymore. Everyone’s pretending something; everyone hides. It’s just human nature—or otherwise.

The air goes a bit colder in the sitting room and Harry shivers. 

“Now that he knows he’s a ghost,” Niall says, “I bet we’ll get lots of this. Temperature fluctuations, lights buzzing in and out, weird shit—”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “ _Temperature fluctuations_?”

“Yeah. You know, cold spots.” When Louis just stares, Niall makes a face. “What? You think you two are the only people who know shit about ghosts and the paranormal? It’s a new age, Lou. I watch Ghost Adventures. I know what’s going on in the world.”

“Right,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. “Like you knew all about Liam and his girlfriend from the news.”

“Oh,” Liam says softly all of a sudden, his hands clenching on his knees. “My girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says again, because that’s what you say and because he is. He’s sorry they couldn’t tell, he’s sorry that they didn’t realize sooner, he’s sorry he forgot, he’s sorry it happened at all. “Do you—maybe want to—” Harry holds out his phone.

Liam nods. “Thanks.” He opens up Harry’s browser, scanning through the articles. He frowns, but more than angry he just seems sad. “Says he was just some guy who had too much to drink. In his sixties, a granddad.”

Harry nods. “It was all just a mistake. An accident.”

Liam sighs and he gets fainter; Harry can see the grandfather clock and the chair he’s sitting in through his chest. “That’s how my phone broke. The screen. It was the crash.” He scrolls, his face lit with the screen’s glow. “We were cute, me and her. But…she’s not a ghost, too?”

“I don’t think so. But we could always go back to that road, if you want to find out. Or if you just want to go,” Harry says quickly. “You know, for—for closure.”

“Hang on,” Niall says. “You said you had dates with her.”

“I…I did. I’d sit at her grave for a bit. Just kind of talk about what’s going with me. Sometimes I think she could hear me. In that between place where I was half-in half-out, I could almost hear her, too.”

There’s silence after that as the realization of what that must do to him every time falls on all of them. “Jesus,” Niall mutters. “That’s _sad_.”

Liam nods. “After, I’d forget that it even happened. I dunno, it’s really hard to explain. There’s a lot of energy around this place, almost like a force field. And it’s like once you pass through that, everything is different. _You’re_ different.”

“The very nature of the energy does something to you on a fundamental level,” Louis says. He looks at Harry at the same time that he understands.

“It’s me,” Harry says softly. “It’s my magic.”

Niall nods. “It’s this place, too. There’s something old and deep in the magic here. Maybe it’s…”

“—why we were all drawn here,” Louis says. “Maybe it’s you, Harry, it’s your family and it’s the magic of your connection to this place and the land here. You’re the reason we’re all here. You’re the reason we’re…more human.”

Harry looks around at the three of them. So many things are going through his mind, questions and realizations and glittering wonders that make his heart beat faster. He knew they were all fated to meet within only a few short months of knowing them. They just _fit_ so easily like they’d all been doing it forever. Then their boat had been rocked by Zayn’s departure, by his responsibilities under the ocean. They were unbalanced. Then Liam appeared, but he had always been there, and maybe _that_ was part of it, too. Destiny. Zayn was always going to leave, always going to be the one who needed to be away, unbound by the changing tides and shifting waves of his home. They were the ones who _saw_ Liam and he came to them to fill in that empty hole.

It’s like the butterfly effect. One tiny decision and they might never have gotten here. What if Zayn’s dad hadn’t become the king of Atlantis, what if it had passed to someone else? What if Liam had never found Louis to attach to his essence because he went to a different pub? What if Louis had chosen not to attack Niall but to go after someone else instead? Even worse, what if Harry had resisted Zayn’s efforts the night of Halloween Spooktacular Funland? He tries to picture himself staying home, experimenting with magic in their old tiny flat, and he can’t do it because he’s changed now, they all are, by time and the seasons and each other.

One tiny decision is all it takes. But Harry still believes, even if they had made different choices, they still would have found each other. Sometimes things are just meant to happen.

“Spooky action at a distance,” he says.

Louis makes a face as Liam laughs. “What?”

“Spooky action at a distance. Quantum entanglement. “

Niall nods. “Saw summat like on the Science Channel.” When they look at him, he shrugs. “What? I told you, I know shit.”

“Einstein didn’t really believe it, but he was wrong. He was a witch, by the way.”

Liam’s eyes widen and it’s hilarious to Harry that a guy who just found out he’s a ghost can still be surprised. “No shit.”

“Shit,” Niall says, nodding. “Harry told me.”

“I wasn’t supposed to. Trade secrets and all that. Pretend you don’t know.”

Louis moves his hands in the shape of a rainbow. “The more you pretend you don’t know.”

“Anyway. Quantum entanglement. It’s this idea that particles are connected somehow. That over all this distance of time and space, they can influence each other. It’s this idea that if only two particles existed in the entirety of the universe, they would meet somewhere. And I think…I think we’re like that. For no reason that science or magic can explain—yet—we were all influencing each other across space before we even knew each other, and it somehow brought us together.”

“Like we were meant to be here,” Louis says.

“Yeah.”

“And we’re definitely spooky,” Niall replies.

“Spooky action at a distance,” Liam says. He smiles a little. “I like that. That makes me feel better about this whole…dead thing. I mean, it’s still a shock—why wouldn’t it be? But the idea that I was meant to be here, well.” He shrugs. “It’s nice. Kind of like this is home. Not necessarily the house, but you know…you three.”

Niall beams because he is always about that pack mentality.

Liam hands Harry’s phone back. “So even though I just said all that, I’m going to go ahead and go back to the other place now, if you don’t mind. Try and figure out what it’s like, being a ghost. I’ll come back, though.” He shrugs, lips quirking up in some small semblance of a smile. “I have to.”

“Yeah, of course,” Niall says, nodding. “Take all the time you need.”

“I’ll be back for your birthday. I can’t miss that, not after you threw a surprise do for mine.”

“We’ll be here,” Harry says, smiling encouragingly.

“Love you lads,” Liam says with a wave. His smile is still a little strained, but what else can they expect? Their lives now have a very new, steep learning curve that they are all going to have to adjust to. But they’re going to get through it, like they always do, because it’s who they are. They might be monsters, but that’s what sets them apart: they adapt, they change, they endure. They have to.

It takes a few tries, but Liam finally flickers out again, leaving the sitting room far emptier and colder than it was before.

Louis snickers at that, rolling his eyes. “Right, well. Guess we finally figured out why he’s been so bloody _weird_.”

“And why his aura was silver, like yours,” Harry says. “I just assumed silver was a vampire’s color; thought he was one, too.” Niall laughs at that. “Turns out it’s the color for the dead.”

“Who knew,” Louis says dryly. “You’d think it’d be the color for werewolves.” Niall throws up a rude gesture and Louis laughs, stretching his legs out on Harry’s lap. “What I want to know,” he says as he reclines back languidly, ever the smug king on his throne, “is how you two found out about all this.”

Niall shoots a glance at Harry, shifting on the sofa. “What do you mean?”

“You came tearing into the room all at once.” He touches Harry’s arm. “I’ve never seen you so upset, babe. I thought something had happened.”

Niall looks at Harry. “You gonna tell him?”

Harry nods, biting his lip. “All right, well…I was Summoned today. With a capital S, officially, by the Council. The Greater Witches’ Council of the United Kingdom and Ireland. They’re kind of like…witch parliament.”

“Oh. Wow. What did they want?”

“That’s where it gets difficult to explain. I’m not actually sure? It was to warn me, I suppose, but it also sounded something like a threat.”

Louis looks up at Harry, a delicate frown perched on his face. “It’s nothing…bad, right? Like you haven’t gone all Voldemort on me, have you? Turned to the Dark Arts, fancied a bit of necromancy?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes. “No, nothing like that. It just complicates things.”

“Doesn’t everything in this household,” Louis murmurs. 

He shakes his head. “Anyway, it’s not important. They were just checking in with me because they know about all of your powers, apparently. They told me about Liam.” He flaps his hands, scowling. “They…outed him from his spooky closet! Which is not nice at all, and now I am incredibly annoyed with them.”

“Do they have like, magical CCTV? Is that how they know?”

Harry taps his lip. “It’s possible they were scrying.” When Niall just stares blankly at him, Harry says, “It’s when you use a reflective surface to project your energy and look in on things. Mirrors, water, etc.”

“And they can just _do_ that? Mate, that’s a huge invasion of your privacy!”

“Well, what am I supposed to say? ‘Stop, I don’t want you spying on me and my Halloween flatmates’?”

“Uh, yeah? This isn’t America, for fuck’s sake.”

“As if they invented invasions of privacy.” Louis rolls his eyes. “You would be horrified at the things I saw on our side during the Revolutionary War. The spying back then, my _god_ —”

Niall waves a hand, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Grandad, we’ve heard it all before.” 

“It’s not like they do it all the time.” Harry pauses. “Probably.”

“What I want to know is why you?” Louis asks. “Why are they looking into you?”

 _Because of you._ But he can’t bring himself to say it, not after everything over the last few weeks, not with where his head’s been at. Harry was serious when he said he was going to protect Louis, and if that means he has to protect him from his own people, then so be it.

Niall looks at him for a long moment, then says, “Because he’s so powerful, probably. Right, Harry? I mean, you remember that time with the space in his hands.”

Harry shrugs, his cheeks warming at the thought of Niall covering for him. “Well, I wouldn’t say _that_ —”

Louis sighs dramatically, touching Harry’s stomach with his foot. “Always so modest, this boy.”

“So what are you going to do?” Niall asks, messing with the ends of his hair.

“Nothing for now. What else can we do?” Harry shakes his head. “I’m going to focus on making this feel as normal for Liam as possible because I can’t imagine what kind of a transition that’s got to be. And your birthday tomorrow, of course. That’s all I can do. Take this one bit at a time.”

Niall brightens considerably and Harry watches his aura glow again. “Oh, yeah! Nearly forgot. Did Zayn ever get back to yeh?”

“Yeah, he’ll be here.”

Niall beams. “Great! I can’t wait to tell him Liam’s a ghost, we’ve got a full house, eh?” His smile dims for a second. “Wait, is that okay, do you think? Is being a ghost like being gay, should I not tell people?”

“Well, don’t go around town yelling it,” Louis says with a laugh. “We’ll ask Liam when he comes back, see how he feels about it.”

Niall leaps up, bouncing into the kitchen. “I’m gonna start dinner,” he calls and then all they can hear after that is banging around, pots and pans clanging together, cupboards snapping open and shut.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Really rolls with the hits, that one.”

“Honestly. Nothing seems to bother him ever.” Harry shrugs. “Except his change.” He rubs a hand across his face. “I’ve got to go down to the cellar and get to work on that. I’ll probably be in there all night hoping it works, and then I’ve got to get some of this house cleaned up, Zayn didn’t say when he was going to be here so who knows, and get the decorations up—”

“Whoa, hey.” Louis sits up, half-in Harry’s lap. “Take a breath, darling. You just said so yourself, one thing at a time. Like I’m going to stand by and you’re going to have to do all this by yourself. Okay?”

Harry nods. What started as a hectic day has ended exactly the same—and he can’t help but think about the Council. Are they watching them now? Are they narrowing their eyes at Louis’ legs sprawled across him, at Louis’ fingers tracing the curling ends of his hair? What exactly is it that they think they know about Louis?

“Hey,” Louis says softly, wrapping one of the curls around his finger. “You okay?”

He nods again. “Just…a bit overwhelmed now, to be honest. Everything is happening so much.”

“It does tend to do that, doesn’t it?” Louis touches Harry’s fingers with his other hand, tangling them together. “But listen, last night wasn’t just about me, remember? It was about you, too. We’re one two, Harry, you said it yourself. I’m here to support you and help you, because that’s what this is, that’s what _we_ are. I’ll be here. I’m always going to be here. Okay? So lean on me when you need to. Tell me what to do.”

Harry laughs. “You sure about that?”

“Always. Go for it.”

“All right. While I’m down there, maybe you could clean up in here. I’ll help, of course, with magic.” When Louis opens his mouth, Harry says, “It’s actually really easy to do that, it’s not distracting at all. Don’t worry, my powers can handle it.”

“You sure?” A dark cloud crosses Louis’ face briefly. “I mean, if this is why they’re monitoring you—”

“It’s fine, Louis. This is hardly a blip on the radar, I promise.”

“All right.” He tugs on the curl, kissing Harry. “It’s a deal, Curly.”

He disappears into a cloud of mist and Harry laughs. He, too, snaps his fingers and gets the household to work. The broom and the mop come out of their closet, followed by the dustpan and feather duster. Felix’s kitty crunchies pour themselves into his dish and he comes running, the little bell hanging from his collar ringing throughout the downstairs area as fish flakes go into Remus’ tank, too. He’s gotten so big now, Harry thinks he’s going to need to put in a pond for him, maybe get some other koi so he has friends. Harry imagines him breathing bubbles happily outside under the sunshine and he smiles.

“Dinner’s in an hour,” Niall shouts from the kitchen, only to curse a moment later as Louis materializes next to him and he drops a pan. “That is _really_ annoying that I’m the only one who can’t do that, you know!”

“Sucks to be a shitty werewolf, doesn’t it?” Louis asks and there’s the sound of scuffling, followed by a crash.

“What was that?” Harry shouts.

“Nothing!” they cry in unison, but Harry can hear their stifled laughter and he rolls his eyes. At least living with flatmates will prepare him for having kids, if nothing else.

He snaps his fingers again, teleporting himself to the cellar. It’s going to be a long night.

* * *

The cleaning passes quickly without any incidents, save the argument Louis gets into with the duster when it sweeps dust from the bookshelves onto the floor _just_ after the broom got done sweeping. Harry clears it up with magic and yet again, Louis is left marveling at the sheer scope of his boyfriend’s powers.

“Hey,” Niall says from the kitchen. “Tell Harry dinner’s ready, will you?”

“He’s busy. Hasn’t time for a sit down.”

“Fine, then. I’ll make him up a plate, hang on.”

A few minutes later, Louis is carrying a plate and a beer, balancing them as carefully as he can, wishing he had Harry’s magic so he could float things. He goes down the stairs outside, kicking open the cellar door as carefully as he can. He maneuvers down into the dimness, able to see through it in dark red, his vision adjusting quickly.

He’s never been in there before because it’s Harry’s space, they all know that, and he can’t help but look around in wonder.

Harry is standing there, surrounded by glowing orbs of light that hover, dipping up and down in the air around him. The entire room is lined in potted plants, some hanging from the ceiling, curlicue vines swirling down to the floor. He’s got an expansive scientific apparatus set up on a table, curling loops of glass leading into all sorts of beakers and flasks, dripping liquid in jeweled tones of sapphire and sunshine yellow. Next to them, a cauldron bubbles on a bright blue flame. Dried herbs hang from over his head, and there is a cluster of melting candles in the corner, red bleeding into lavender and white, a kaleidoscope of wax and scent. Fleetwood Mac is spinning on the record player in the corner, Stevie and Lindsey singing _damn your love, damn your lies_.

Louis knocks gently on the wall with his foot. “Can I come in?”

Harry snaps up, spinning around. He’s wearing a witch hat, holding a bottle filled with glittery purple liquid. He’s wearing those goggles of his, too, the ones Louis hasn’t seen since the crystal incident. There’s something off about the air in the room around him; it’s kind of hazy, almost shimmery.

“Of course! Here.” Harry moves a stack of books off a stool next to his makeshift lab table, dumping them in a dusty corner. The bottle stays hovering in the air while Louis approaches, offering the food and drink.

He bows slightly. “Compliments of Niall.”

“Oh, thanks!” Harry puts his goggles up on his hat and plants a kiss on Louis’ cheek. “I’ll tell him later.” Another stool hovers toward them and Harry perches on it, grabbing up the plate and digging into his chicken marsala. He picks up the beer bottle, peering at it. “Huh. You want this?” he asks.

“You don’t?”

“Nah, I’m more in the mood for…this.” He snaps and another bottle appears in mid-air. He conjures a glass down from the kitchen, and the bottle tips into it, pouring out red wine.

“Cheers, then,” Louis says, popping off the top of the beer with his thumbnail. He clinks the bottle against Harry’s glass, taking a drink. Drinks are the only thing that don’t cause his body to go haywire. Vampirism, it would seem, makes it so that the only things his body can process are liquids. Which makes sense, given his new diet, and which isn’t altogether terrible, when he thinks about it, considering his fondness for tea and beer. It’s only when he thinks about his mum’s breakfasts, the ones he only ever got to look at, that he gets that familiar stab of longing.

He watches Harry eat, wondering how it is. He can remember his biological family’s names, can remember who was pope at the time of the Inquisition, but he doesn’t remember how any food tastes. As he’s watching him, Harry seems to glow, shining vividly under the faint lights. Louis frowns, rubbing at his eyes, but if anything, the light around him gets even brighter. It changes color right before his eyes: it’s red near the top of his head over his hair, then orange around his face, yellow at his heart, green at his stomach, blue at his hips, indigo down his legs, and purple at his feet. Around that, like a shield, there’s a soft gold.

Harry glances at Louis, then looks at him again, lips quirking up. “You’re concentrating awfully hard.”

“You’re…you’ve got this light on you.” Louis frowns. “Around you.”

Harry’s eyes widen. He sets his food down, placing his hands on his knees as he turns to face him. “Is it still there?”

Louis nods.

“Describe it to me.”

“It’s changing colors. Like the surface of a bubble in the sun.”

“Like this?” Harry waves his hand in the air, summoning a haze of bubbles that falls slowly from the ceiling. In the light, they give off a prismatic shine.

One of the bubbles floats down in front of Louis’ face and he looks at it, eyes crossing. It pops and he laughs, wiping it off his face. He holds out his hands for the others, letting them fall to his fingers and pop gently, leaving a dust of silvery sparkles behind.

“Yeah, just like that,” Louis says, nodding.

“Like a rainbow?”

Louis nods again. “And then there’s like a gold around that.” He traces the shape of Harry. “It’s weird but really pretty. What is this? Is this—”

“My aura!” Harry claps his hands over his mouth, his words muffled. “This is amazing, I’ve never been able to see it before! Well, sort of, but only if I try really hard, and it makes my head and my eyes hurt.” He slides off his stool, throwing his arms around Louis’ neck. Louis notices, looking down, that his feet aren’t touching the ground; he’s floating, just like the bubbles. “You can see auras!”

“I thought my eyes were going,” Louis says, laughing weakly. “But how?”

“It must be…my blood,” Harry says thoughtfully, biting his lip, his arms looped loosely around Louis’ neck. “You’re getting some of my abilities. That’s incredible! I wonder if this has ever happened before. I wonder…”

“What?”

“What else you’ll get. Or if I drink your blood, what will that do?” He leans in and kisses Louis quickly. “You _did_ tell me to save the academia for later.”

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t want to find out about that one. It could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous? How?”

“Darling, I’m _dead_. You’re…you’re alive. You _are_ life. I worry about what that could mean, for your magic, for your…” He trails off, avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“You think it might kill me.”

“Or strip you of your powers. And why would you want to, anyway? You don’t need to ingest blood, I imagine it would be disgusting for you. Isn’t the typical reaction instantly throwing up?”

“Usually. But you’re not human. Not fully, anyway.”

“You’re not totally human yourself, either.” He tilts his head. “Not fully, anyway.”

Harry grins. “Who wants to be fully human?”

“Not me.”

“Me neither.”

He kisses Louis again and this time, Louis gives in to it, to him, sliding his shirt up a little to put his hands on Harry’s hips to drag him closer, to fit his hands over the bruises just beginning to fade from his skin. Harry cupping his face, breath warm against his skin, his curls smelling of lavender and vanilla, is Louis’ favorite thing. Blowjobs never go out of style and anal is a true gift to mankind, but this, right here, their lips pressed together, tasting each other—that’s where Louis finds himself when he feels lost, in Harry’s touch. This is home.

“Okay,” Harry says, breathing a little hard. “Look, pal. We had a deal. No distractions.”

“Sorry, when you theorize about magic like that…let’s just say I _like_ the academia.” He nips at Harry’s lips, but Harry puts a hand up between them.

“You didn’t like it last night.”

“Only because you were teasing me. Without mercy, I might add, in the middle of sex.”

“Oh, like you don’t tease me, Lewis.”

“Harold, I wouldn’t dare.” He kisses him again. “I just wanted to drink you a little before fucking you. Is that a crime?”

Harry’s breath hitches, his pupils dilating the slightest fraction, but Louis can see it, can see the ridges of his irises and the canyons of color, losing himself in those fields of green.

“I’m _supposed_ to be working,” Harry huffs.

“No, you’re supposed to be eating. C’mon.” Louis steers Harry back to his stool, handing him his plate. “Finish up, will you? I don’t want you down here slaving over Niall of all people on very little sleep and no food. You need to keep up your strength.”

“You’re right,” Harry says, surprising Louis. Usually, he likes to battle back and pout, just to mess with Louis. It’s another one of their games.

Louis stares at him for a moment before he decides that maybe, just this once, Harry isn’t playing around and he really does want to eat and get back to work. Which is fine. He should do that.

Louis is spinning on his stool, finishing off his beer, when he hears Harry make a little noise. He starts to spin back to see what happened when every hair on his body stands up at once. He can feel his fangs shift on the roof of his mouth and he slowly turns to look at Harry.

“Ouch,” Harry says, but he’s looking at Louis. “I bit my lip.”

Louis narrows his eyes, staring at Harry’s bottom lip where it’s bleeding. It’s starting to swell and his tongue darts out to swipe away the blood beading there. Louis’ heart goes a little too hard in his chest and his mouth opens.

Harry smiles and there’s a tiny smear of blood on his lovely front teeth. “Oops.”

Louis grins. He loves games.

* * *

“Great,” Harry says from the floor, cuddled up beside Louis half an hour later. Their clothes are half-off, the two of them winded. “Who knows what _that_ did to the energy in here.”

“Sorry,” Louis says, although he clearly doesn’t mean it at all. “No wonder you never want anybody else in here. Look at all that glitter.” It hovers over them in a cloud, a starry sky they made together.  

“Something like that, yeah.” Harry tilts his head. “Looks nice, though. Better than fire, at any rate.”

“Will it mess with your plans?”

“Maybe? I’m not actually sure.” Harry taps his chin. “Hmm. Maybe this is what the potion needed all along.”

Louis smiles, closing his eyes. “Right, well, be sure to add me as co-author when you publish your findings in _Science of Magic Monthly_.”

“Silly, that’s a magazine. Nobody would take it seriously there.”

Louis opens his eyes, looking at him. “Is it really?”

“No,” Harry says, laughing. He touches his lip, healing the mark on it. “There is a newsletter, though. And a couple of academic journals that I _might_ have to consider. We get those delivered by falcons, though. Sometimes crows. It depends. If you’re subscribed to the _Magical Journal of Arcane Studies and Research_ , they come by falcon.”

“And the crows?”

“ _Magical Journal of Arcane Theories and Experimental Approaches_. That’s the more complex, existential stuff.”

“…are you serious?”

“Yes. There’s a few others, too, but they’re smaller, independent. Those are delivered by owls, swans, sometimes gulls if you’re with the Society of Marine Magic and Study, but they’re awfully inconsistent and you always have to pay them, usually with biscuits. Those other ones are the Premier League of magical science.”

“Are _you_ with the Society of Marine Magic and Study?”

“No, but I thought about it. Especially right after meeting Zayn.”

“Are you a part of any society?”

“Not yet. I’ve been meaning to apply to a few, though. You can be in as many as you want, of course, but the Society of Arcane Magic is a big deal. They have to approve you, it’s very exclusive.”

“I never realized how…in-depth your culture is. Like this thing with the Council or whoever, I knew in my head you ought to have some sort of system in place, but it never really occurred to me what that might be. I mean, you seem like a regular lad who just happens to have magic.”

“It’s because we’re so secretive.” Harry bites his lip, thinking of what the Council said about protecting witches, about keeping their society under wraps. There’s a reason for it and they’re right: it’s about safety. Harry has no desire to face whatever mob may come after him should the world find out about his abilities; he doesn’t want that for his family, or anyone. It’s hard enough being gay most of the time, but add to it the supernatural? He’d be a target for sure. His entire way of life would. This home they’ve made for themselves could fade away, gone, just like that.

“Anyway,” he says swiftly, “I really do need to finish up. Can you listen in by the way, see if he’s still awake? I want to try and do the decorations before morning.”

Louis gives him one of those inscrutable looks where Harry feels like he knows every single thought in his head. He doesn’t say anything more about it, though. “Sure,” he says. He listens, nodding. He smiles. “He’s playing PES. Must be trying to practice so he can finally beat me, but this isn’t quite as easy as FIFA.” He stands, pulling up his skinnies and zipping them. “Think I’ll join him.”

“Okay.” Harry watches him go, wishing for the first time that he wasn’t caught between two mythologies. Sure, it makes them who they are and he loves that, but not when there’s this struggle, not when the Council is keeping their eyes firmly fixed on his horizon.

He decides to take his mind off all of it by working. Louis drops back by to tell him when Niall’s gone to bed, just in time to see Harry spill some of the powdered crystal and have it set fire to his work table. After helping him put it out, he mentions something about doing the decorations and leaves Harry to work, reminding him that if there’s any explosions, he ought to warn them all first. Felix comes down to watch for a little while, but he gets bored and takes to exploring on Harry’s bookshelves down there, knocking over bottles and scattering tarot cards.

Finally, hours later when Harry’s vision is starting to swim, his back aching, Louis comes by again. “All right,” he says, “if you’re not done now, that’s too bad. It’s an hour off dawn and you need to sleep.”

“Just a moment,” he murmurs, holding a pinch of something over his bottle.

“What’s that?”

“Some of Niall’s hair—or fur, I guess you could say.”

“That’s…a little gross.”

“Yes.” He drops it into the bottle. It sits on the purple liquid for a moment before sinking below the surface. All at once a burning smell fills the air and the bottle begins to smoke and spark. Louis takes a step forward, grabbing Harry’s arm as he throws up his other in front of his face, reaching for his goggles.

As quickly as it started, it’s over. Harry lowers his arm, wincing, as Louis waves a hand to clear the smoke. “Is it…” he asks, looking at Harry.

Harry picks up the bottle. It is now a bright, shimmery blue, still smoking slightly.

“Louis,” he says quietly, “do you know what I just did?”

“I’m going to guess it has something to do with that magic bottle.”

“Uh- _huh_. Guess what is now in it?”

Louis taps his chin, pretending to think. “Magic alcohol? A bottle of liquid stars? The very essence of what makes you lovely?”

Harry shakes his head, his eyes shining. “I just brewed my very first wolfsbane potion.”

Louis leans his head back and howls, jumping up and down beside Harry. “You did it,” he cries, “I knew you could, you’re brilliant!” He crooks an arm around Harry’s neck, pulling him in to kiss him. “So it’s supposed to look like that?”

Harry nods. “It might darken a little to indigo by tomorrow—or today, I guess, since it’s so late—but that’s just because of the color of wolfsbane. The fact that it turned blue means it worked.”

“I am _so_ happy for you, baby. Finally, all your hard work pays off!”

“Yeah, it feels great,” Harry says, just in time to open his mouth wide in a yawn. “Good thing, because I’m knackered.”

“All right, come on, I’ll help you clean up.”

Harry is too tired to even cast a spell to help the room much; the books feebly stir and the bottles clink as they _slowly_ put themselves away, Louis doing the rest of the work. Harry puts the bottle inside a small box to make sure nothing happens to it during the night and then he’s hugging Louis, chin on his shoulder, and magicking the two of them inside to their room.

Louis helps him undress and tucks him into bed, sliding in next to him, though he’s not due for another hour or so. “I’ll nap with you,” he says, as if he can read Harry’s mind. “And then I should be okay for the day. Your blood certainly has been working its magic.”

“Ha-ha,” Harry says weakly and then he’s asleep, just like that, like…well, magic. 

Despite their late night, Harry wakes them both just a few hours later, singing along to Britney Spears and bringing Louis a mug of tea, with an extra shot of wake-up in it. “It’s magic espresso,” he says, and that explains the glitter in his eyes and the pink rosettes of his cheeks.

Just like with Liam’s birthday, they set up the decorations they didn't get to the night before, most of them leftovers from a party store that was having a sale on St. Patrick’s Day napkins and plates; as a joke, strings of shamrocks hang across doorways and windows, and there are balloons with leering leprechauns on them that Harry insists are funny but Louis finds a little creepy.

“Especially since they’re so inaccurate,” he says, tapping one with a finger.

“Oh, I know,” Harry says, stirring a bowl of batter. His wolfsbane potion is floating in the air beside them, and true to his word, it’s turned indigo since the previous night. Harry points at one of the bookshelves in the sitting room and a book comes tumbling out, darting over to Louis and flying around in circles. Meanwhile, the spoon in Harry’s bowl has kept on stirring of its own accord.

“This is a book of Irish fairy and folktales,” Harry says, “it’s one of my favorites. You know Yeats saw fairies once? He saw them and then he wrote about them all the time after that. People thought he’d been bewitched.”

“I remember,” Louis says. “I remember his poem about the Easter Rising in 1916.”

Harry stops, looking at him. “Let me guess,” he drawls, “you were there.”

“Yeah. With Niall.” He lets go of the balloon, letting it fly to the ceiling. “So? Was he enchanted by a fairy queen or something?”

“I think so. Fairy magic is some of the oldest in the world.”

“Trust me, I know.” Louis sighs, leaning back against the counter. “I wish you had been there.”

“Back then?”

He nods. “I wish you’d been here with me this whole time. You and your academia. You would’ve absolutely lost your mind, Harry, at all the things I’ve seen. There’s so much I want to show you now but I can’t.”

“On your magic carpet?”

Louis huffs out a laugh. “More like on yours, princess.”

“You can always tell me about them, you know. It isn’t the same, but…” Harry shrugs.

“I intend to. How about one story a day, for the rest of our lives?”

Harry smiles. “Deal. Hand me those pans, will you?” He points to a couple of muffin pans on the counter. There are baking cups inside each of them, also patterned with shamrocks.

“So explain to me how this works again?”

“Niall’s spirit centers on food. It’s his home. So I’ve decided that the best way for this to work is to bake it into cupcakes!”

“So this is actually part of the spell?”

Harry nods, his curls bouncing. They are particularly bouncy today. “Yep. So we won’t actually know if it works on him until after he’s eaten these. We won’t even know if it works until they come _out,_ they could collapse in the oven.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.”

Louis helps Harry scoop the batter-potion mixture into the cupcake pans. He only does a few of them with the potion, leaving the others for them to eat. Before he puts them into the oven, however, he bends down to wish them luck and ask them to be nice and work for him. Louis doesn’t say anything out loud, but he hopes it works anyway, so they can all finally find some peace during Niall’s time of the month.

Just as Harry is bending over to put the cupcakes into the oven, a silvery form comes sliding down from the ceiling unsteadily. Louis opens his mouth, watching as Liam solidifies just in time to hit the floor with a loud clatter. Harry lets out what can only be described as a high-pitched meow, slamming the oven door shut as he stands up.

He spins around, one hand against his chest. “Liam! You scared me!”

Liam is bent over, laughing so hard he can hardly speak. “Your face,” he finally manages. “You should’ve seen your _faces_!”

“What? You didn’t scare me,” Louis scoffs, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, all right, mate,” Liam says sagely, nodding. “Right. You look like someone just…walked over your grave.”

“Ha-fucking-ha,” Louis says as Liam cracks up again. “That was the worst shit I’ve ever heard. That was worse than Harry’s jokes.”

“Hey,” Harry says slowly, frowning good-naturedly. “Don’t act like you don’t make puns. You do.”

“Prove it.”

Harry rolls his eyes, turning back around to peek into the oven. “I hope they’ll be okay, I shouldn’t have slammed the door like that, but it slipped out of my hand when Liam dropped in.”

“Heh,” Liam says. “Dropped in.”

“Do shut up,” Louis says through a smile of clenched teeth. “This is a very delicate operation and if his cupcakes sink because of you, so help me, I will—”

“You’ll what?” Liam asks. He grins and becomes transparent, phasing through the kitchen wall, into the sitting room. “The cupcakes will be fine, you old worrier.”

“You know, I think I preferred him not knowing he was dead and thinking he was just some weird human.” Louis shakes his head. “This is already the worst arrangement I can possibly think of.”

“Really. So much for needing to get used to being dead. But that’s Liam, I guess.” Harry shakes his head. “Wonder how long he was working on those puns.”

“Too long. Also, since when does he get to make age jokes?” Louis narrows his eyes, baring his teeth and growling. “If he wasn’t already dead, I’d eat him.”

“Hey, remember that rule? No eating friends in the house?” Harry unties his apron, the one Niall’s mum made for him after Niall told her all about his friends back when they moved in together. It’s a soft pastel pink, patterned with black and white hearts. It goes well with the polka-dot headscarf he’s got holding his curls back from his face and the vintage 60s white sunglasses he’s got perched on top of his head. Louis found them in his storage after going through it some more and thought he’d like them. Topping off the look is the single earring the crows brought him, several pink hearts on a wire.

“Well, if he wasn’t dead, I’m take him outside, away from your precious furniture, and rip him to shreds.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, babe.”

“Hey! I am terrifying.”

“Yes, Lou, you’re a scary old vampire. Do you have the candles?”

Louis snatches them from the cupboard and tosses them to Harry, who catches them with magic, sealing them in a bright lavender bubble, letting them float over his head. “For the werewolf’s birthday cupcakes,” Louis says, laughing and rolling his eyes. “And this is after we just threw a surprise party for a _ghost_. Will wonders never cease.”

“Not in this house. All right, where’s Niall?”

“Alternating between watching the Derby game and looking out the window for Zayn.”

Liam pokes his head in and even though Louis has seen loads of things throughout history, a disembodied head sticking through a _wall_ is not one of them. “He’s looking out the window for Zayn.”

“Jesus, mate. Stop just popping in, will you?”

“What?”

“It’s _weird_!”

“You know what else is weird? You drink blood. That’s creepy. You don’t think that’s creepy?” Without waiting for an answer, he looks at Harry. “You don’t find that creepy at all?”

Harry lowers the sunglasses over his eyes, but their white frames have turned red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Beneath the glasses, Louis can see a blush spreading down over his cheeks. “Also, is this eavesdropping going to become commonplace?”

“I wasn’t! It’s just…” Liam tilts his head. “When I’m all ghosty, it’s like barriers don’t exist. So I can pass through them, you know? But that means I can see through them and hear through them, too. They’re just these gray shadows.”

“Do clothes count as barriers?” Niall suddenly asks from the sitting room. “Because if we actually all look totally starkers to you, I’m moving out.”

“Right,” Louis says, nodding, “because we’ve never seen each other naked before. As a group.”

“That was _one_ time—”

“And that other time,” Liam says. “Unless you’re talking about that time up in London, Lou?”

“Oh, I’d actually forgotten about that.” He laughs. “Thanks for reminding me. That time, too.”

Niall frowns. “You’re not supposed to take the piss on my birthday.”

“Hmm, are you sure? Because I think there’s an ancient rule book somewhere that says today is the day we are _especially_ meant to take the piss.” Louis reaches up, snatching Harry's book of fairytales out of the air. He flips to a random page. "Yep, here it is, written down right here. " He snaps the book shut, holding a hand up as Niall opens his mouth. “And yes, I _would_ know.”

Niall’s face falls. “You can’t even let me make fun of your age proper, can you?”

“Not when I left myself so open for it, no.”

“Can’t even let me have that little bit of joy…” He breaks off, raising his head and sniffing. “Oi. Is that cake?”

Harry grins. He pushes down on the temple tips of his sunglasses so they raise up and down like eyebrows and Niall laughs. “Close. Not quite.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he sings, dancing back into the kitchen. There’s still food to prepare and plates to set out; a kitchen witch’s work is never done.

Niall sighs and goes back to watching the game. In all that time, Derby scored and he didn’t even notice. “Hey,” Louis says, his voice softer, “he’s coming.”

“Where is he, then?”

“On his way. Just relax, all right? It’s your birthday. You’re supposed to enjoy it.” Louis takes a deep breath. “One hundred and sixty-nine. There’s a joke in there somewhere.”

“Ha,” Niall offers gamely.

“Ah. Seems like only yesterday you were a snot-nosed werewolf punk, wandering the disgusting streets of London.” Louis pretends to wipe a tear away.

Liam frowns. “How’d you meet?”

“Tried to kill me,” Niall says, waving a hand like it’s old news. It is, really; the oldest. “But he can’t drink werewolf blood. Tastes funny.”

“Funny, he says. Tastes _wretched_. You ever tasted something rotten, Liam?”

He thinks for a moment. “One time I bit into an apple that had a hole in it, but I didn’t see the hole. My mouth tasted disgusting, it was all sour and bitter. Then I looked down at the apple. Because of the hole, the inside was all filled with mold. It was the worst thing I ever tasted, I am not even joking. Proper horrible and all, I couldn’t eat apples for months after.”

“See? It’s exactly like that.”

Niall scoffs. “Oh, come on. You weren’t exactly a prize yourself back then.”

Liam’s head swings back between them. “What’s that mean?”

“I was…working on it,” Louis says primly. “A recovering addict, if you will.”

“What were you addicted to?”

“Murdering people and sucking all their blood. It’s kind of a habit with him, with all of them.” Niall smirks. “Remember that prick we met in London? That vampire bloke? Fancied himself their king or somethin'?"

“Oh god. Don’t remind me, please. I try my hardest to block the politics of _them_ out of my mind every day that I still draw breath.” Louis blinks. “And the days I don’t, I suppose.”

“We broke up for a while after that. You remember?”

“Gay,” Louis says and Niall rolls his eyes, chucking a throw pillow at him. “Yes, I remember. I went to Wales after that.”

“No, _I_ went to Wales. You went to Scotland.”

“Same thing.”

“Oi. You gonna start calling me British now?”

Louis ruffles Niall’s hair. “Settle down there, boyo. Anyway, that was fun. Then I came back to the country, not far from here actually, to take part in a Halloween festival. Lo and behold, who do I see there but none other than—”

“Me!” Niall says, laughing. “Guess it was meant to be.”

“And we’ve been doing the festival bit ever since. Every year for the last century.”

“Wow. You sure you’re dating Harry, mate?” Liam asks.

“Yes. But what makes you think I’m not dating Niall as well?”

Liam stops. He looks between them a little more closely. “You’re…you’re not…”

Louis laughs at the look on his face. Poor lad can’t take any more confusion. “No, Harry and I are utterly, entirely exclusive.”

“Does he know that?”

“Of course he knows that. It’s mutual, we’ve discussed it. Niall and I were meant to be, but what we were meant to be is best mates. Harry and I were meant to be in an entirely different plane of emotion. I feel that Harry and I have been connected at our souls for much longer than the short time of his life, perhaps even since mine began.”

Both Liam and Niall stare at him.

“What?”

“That was beautiful, Lou,” Liam says. “I mean it. Proper lovely. You should write cards.”

“I’m sure a company would be thrilled to hire a vampire arsehole.”

“Well, if you’re good enough for Harry, then—”

Louis throws the pillow back, rolling his eyes. “Happy fucking birthday, you prick.”

“Thanks, smoochums.”

“I hate you.”

“Ask Harry if they’re cupcakes.” Louis shakes his head as he walks away, back to the kitchen. “They _are_ cupcakes, aren’t they?” Niall calls after him. “My sense of smell is grand, you know!”

“What is going on out there?” Harry asks as Louis saunters into the kitchen, pulling himself up to sit on a free counter.

“The usual.”

“Wonderful.” Harry hands Louis a spoon. “Want to stir some frosting for me?”

Louis nods, smiling. “Love to.”

Half an hour later, the cupcakes are nearly done, the green frosting is in the refrigerator to help it solidify “just a tad”, according to Harry, and Niall has taken to pacing in front of the windows with the telly off. As Louis is helping Harry finish up the sandwiches he’s made, there’s a hair-raising gasp mixed with a shout and some banging.

“I think he’s here,” Niall shouts, “I just saw someone outside!”

As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door mere seconds later. Niall throws it open.

Sure enough, Zayn is standing there. His hair is longer now, slicked back behind his ears, but several strands have escape to fall over his forehead. Two shell earrings dangle from his ears. He smiles widely when he sees them. Louis blinks once or twice, rubbing at his eyes before he remembers: It’s Zayn’s aura that he’s seeing. It’s a mixture of rippling colors, moving from purple and deep blue to a cool silvery teal, like the inside of an oyster shell.

He hugs Niall tightly, the two of them talking excitedly and the door shuts behind them of its own accord. Louis frowns, looking around; Liam is nowhere to be seen. The dusty, creaky chandelier over the sitting room does swing a little ominously, however. He narrows his eyes at that.

“Happy birthday, mate,” Zayn tells Niall, petting his head. “Where’s Harry? I’ve got a gift but it needs wrapping.”

“It really doesn’t—” Niall starts but Harry comes out of the kitchen, interrupting them.

They all get a hug in with Zayn before he and Harry go off into the kitchen to wrap whatever his mysterious gift is. Harry’s record player is spinning in the kitchen, Mick Jagger commanding them to _start me up!_ , and from where Louis is standing, the ridiculous faux-Irish decorations look marvelous.

Louis looks at Niall. “There, you happy now?”

Niall nods, a bright smile on his face. “Was happy already. This is just icing on the cupcakes.”

“You’re awful.”

There’s a loud creaking sound from behind them and Louis turns. He can’t believe he’s about to talk to thin air, but that’s what it’s like, innit? “You should probably come down from there before Harry finds out you’re up there. That was his great-great-aunt Delilah’s. There’s genuine crystal in that.”

Liam tries to stifle a laugh but fails. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nobody up here, nobody _in_ here but you two!” He draws out the _o_ ’s, like one of those cartoon ghosts. Louis bites his lip, trying not to laugh.

“If you’re going to try and scare Zayn, it’s not going to work.”

“Sure it will! I just…” He flickers into being and Louis gets a glimpse of him hanging onto the chandelier like he’s Miley Cyrus in a music video—and the fact that he can even make that reference is entirely Harry and Niall’s fault. He disappears again, then reappears. “Wait, hang on, it’s—”

There’s a loud groaning sound and the crystals and lights along the chandelier jingle fearfully. Dust rains down from the ceiling as, in one horrible moment, it and Liam come crashing down into a great heap on the coffee table.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Niall shouts, rushing over, but all Louis can do is stare, shaking his head in disbelief.

Clouds of dust fill the room. Niall and Liam both cough, Niall reaching out a hand to help Liam up.

Harry and Zayn both come running out the kitchen. Harry is holding a tube of wrapping paper and a record, _Hotel California_ by The Eagles.

Before anyone can even say anything, the lights flicker throughout the entire house and go off, leaving them in complete darkness. 

* * *

Louis is the first to speak. “Shit.”

“Oh, I knew I’d forgotten something,” Niall says. “I got every bill in the post but the electricity. Fuck.”

“It’s okay, Ni,” Louis says. “You were brilliant the rest of the time.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Liam mutters something and both he and Niall laugh.

“Well,” Zayn says. “Good to know nothing changes ’round here.”

“Happy birthday,” Harry cheers weakly.

There’s some shuffling, followed by some bangs and scraping, and a muffled “Ow! Watch it, will you—oh sorry, Zayn, here—let me just—”

The sitting room glows with light, Harry sending star-shaped bubbles in soft yellow, pink, and blue to the ceiling, where they hover and bob up and down. Using magic, he hauls up the chandelier and moves it out of the room to the laundry room, fixing the coffee table with a swirl of his hand.

“Okay, nobody panic,” he says. “I have a solution. I’m going to get the cupcakes frosted while you lot sort it, all right?”

“What are we doing, Harry?” Louis asks.

“Getting every single candle I own and bringing them out here.”

They do exactly that. They haul out every taper, every tealight, every votive and pillar in every color under the sun, every color in the spectrum. There are mossy greens and sparkling blues, half-melted reds and snow whites, joyous yellows and soft pinks, tealights shaped like roses and several silver crescent moons, and then of course there’s lavender and vanilla hanging in the air, there’s the air after rain, there’s coastal breezes, there’s mountain lodge, there’s pumpkin spice and cherry blossom and all of the herbs that Harry has managed to preserve forever in wax, their scents lingering in the air like they’re still alive. They crowd candles of all sizes onto the coffee table, onto the end tables, onto the mantel over the fireplace, onto the edges of the bookshelves away from the books, on the dining room table, on the floor and the windowsills, the curtains pulled back and away.

Harry brings a plate of sandwiches and frosted cupcakes out, beers following him, dancing through the air after him. He floats the plates over to the coffee table as pillows scurry down from the sofa as makeshift seats on the floor. Everyone crowds around as the beers fly to their hands. Harry grins, snapping his fingers: All of the candles light at once, even the ones on the cupcakes. Harry bought the numbered kind, a one, a six, and a nine.

They sing happy birthday, all except Zayn who just sort of whisper-chants it along with them, the flames making Niall’s face golden as he grins around at them. He blows them out and immediately tosses aside one of the candles, peeling off the baking cup, and shoving the cupcake in his mouth.

“The ones with the candles on them are specifically for you,” Harry says, intercepting Liam with a quick slap on the hand as he reaches for one. “You have to eat those.”

“’Kay,” he manages through his full mouth, reaching for the one with the nine on it.

Liam takes a regular one, licking off some of the frosting. “So you remember me, right? Liam, the friend from London,” he says to Zayn.

“Yeah, we slept on your sofa whenever we’d go up there to destroy the pubs.”

“Right! Well, I’m a ghost, apparently.”

“Oh, that’s wicked cool, man.” They shake hands like they’re meeting for the first time all over again. “I’ve never met a ghost before!”

“Me neither!”

“I’m a siren. ’S why I can’t sing. I wonder if I do, though, will you even be affected?”

“Let’s _not_ try that,” Louis suggests, as Niall shoves his third cupcake in his mouth. Harry beams at him.

They open presents after that, though not the vinyl from Zayn, since they didn’t finish wrapping it; he just hands it over, shrugging apologetically. As though it were a coordinated effort, Louis’ gift is a new expensive record player, one he’s been drooling over for a long time. “Are you _joking_ ,” he says when he unwraps it, freeing it from the horrendous effort Louis made on some leftover Christmas paper. “Are you _mad,_ this was so much—”

“Oh, shut up,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “It’s not even a big deal.”

From Harry, there’s a new set of golf clubs and Liam gives him an envelope.

“What’s this?”

“Open it, Nialler, how’s that sound?”

Niall grumbles under his breath, doing as he’s told. Inside is a plane ticket for Ireland.

“What…”

“Louis said you haven’t been home in a while. So I thought you might want to go.” He shrugs, smiling. “Don’t think we’re trying to get rid of you or anything, I bought one, too. I mean…we’ll see how that goes, I guess. If I have to, I’ll just hang around in the overhead.”

They all laugh at that.

“Liam, that’s…” Niall shakes his head. “Thank you. Really.”

After that, they drink and talk back and forth for an hour or so, asking Zayn what Atlantis is like. The tensions have improved somewhat, with his father in charge, and things are looking up. There’s something in his face when he says it, though, that makes Louis watch him carefully. There’s something he’s not telling them. He may have joined their group originally as Harry’s friend, but Louis got to know him well enough to notice little things about him: the way he won’t meet their eyes as often, the way he worries at his bottom lip and picks at his fingernails. He’s uncertain. Something’s wrong.

Everyone else is glowing. Their auras are alight with joy and fire. His seems cooler now, muted, changed, and not just because of the color. It’s as though something has come to pass and he’s accepted it. He’s become someone else now, someone who is known to them, but who is foreign at the same time. Something about Harry’s blood makes it so he can see the widening gap between them, his light getting further and further away from theirs. It will always be there, like those fingerprints of energy that Harry can sense, but Louis has a bad feeling.

After talking, there's weed, of course, and they smoke out. Harry does tarot for Liam while Zayn and Niall play FIFA, which devolves into much shouting and shit-talking, as well as card games, Harry cleaning them all out at gin. He’s rubbish at poker, though, without a single dishonest bone in his body, and he is so excited when he gets good cards that Louis doesn’t have the heart to fold and lets him take the pot.

Past midnight, sandwiches and bottles in pockets, the four of them traipse out to the woods, handing a blunt back and forth. They exhale whorls of smoke as they sit in their favorite clearing, lit by more of Harry’s lights, and Harry enchants them to make shapes, knights on horseback riding around their heads, fighting other knights with sharply pointed armor. Dragons zoom past, blowing smoky flames from their mouths and roaring silently, while butterflies flit round the clearing visiting flowers whose petals unfurl beneath the watchful stars, all fine silver mist, all moonlight and magic. 

Louis sits up on a log while Harry sprawls in the grass between his legs. Zayn sits beside them while Niall makes a game of throwing stones through Liam, cackling all the while. Louis braids Harry’s curls in the half-light, Harry’s eyes closed in relaxed contentment. It’s cool enough now that the bugs have gone, the leaves beginning to fall, and Louis can taste the changing season in the air thanks to Harry. Autumn’s first breaths are taken in this moment, drawing the air of change into their lungs.

“You’re good at that,” Zayn says, nodding at Harry’s hair.

“I’ve had a long time to practice. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to have loads of sisters.”

Zayn laughs. “Didn’t help me any. I’m rubbish.”

“Stay alive for a hundred more years or so, you’ll nail it.”

Louis knows the exact moment when Harry falls asleep, can sense the change in his lungs and the deep, even way he breathes. His eyelids close with a ringing chime, his lips part a little as he sighs, and the lights around the clearing go out. Niall lets out a quick bark of surprise until it seems to click that he can see in the dark remarkably well.

“Zayn,” Louis says, figuring this is the most appropriate time. “If I were to ask you something right now, would you promise to be completely honest with me?”

He lets out a laugh, sounding surprised. Louis can still see him in the dark, can see his eyes reflecting what little starlight there is in the wake of the waxing gibbous moon. He has another blunt; he brings it to his mouth and the end of it glows red.

“’Course,” he says, his voice strained as he holds the smoke in. “You know me, Lou.”

“Yeah, I know you.” Louis waits until he exhales. “You’re not coming back, are you?”

Zayn doesn’t say anything, just taps the ash off the end.

“After this, I mean. This is the last time.”

Zayn takes another hit and passes it to Louis. He doesn’t speak until after he blows out a couple of smoke rings. “Yeah,” he finally says. “Yeah, I’m not coming back.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“I can’t. They made me choose.”

Not _they’re making me_ , present tense, like this is something any one of them could argue against. No, it’s _they made me_ , past tense, already happened without room for a single breath of dissent, nor a word of outcry. Decision made, over and done with.

“Why?”

“It’s not…proper, for the prince to keep going back and forth. They think I don’t know where I belong or summat. Like I have to prove where my loyalties lie or whatever. So it’s not like I have a choice, all right?”

Louis hands the blunt back without smoking it. “You couldn’t have come to the house carrying lanterns to let us know? One if by land, two if by sea?”

“I didn’t want to just roll up and say that. I didn’t want to spoil it.”

“So when were you planning on saying something? At the very end of it all? Or not at all until you got back to your underwater kingdom?” Louis wants to dig his nails into something, but his fingers are tangled in Harry’s hair and he just keeps them there, holding onto the strands of a braid like Harry is an anchor holding him to the earth and checking his anger, keeping him steady.

Zayn shrugs uncomfortably. “Probably just before leaving. I mean, if it’s gonna be sad anyway, may as well just…”

“Right. It all makes sense.” Louis finishes Harry’s braid, binding it with a tie. He’s still asleep, despite all of Niall and Liam’s noise. “So I suppose you want me to keep your secret?”

“You don’t have to.”

“Ha. Yeah, right, mate.” Louis shakes his head. “I’m going to tell Harry because he doesn’t deserve to be kept in the dark. But don’t think I’m going to make this easy for you.”

Zayn just looks at him.

“I’ll not break Niall’s heart for you. Nothing in this world could make me do that. You can do that on your own.”

“Do you think I _want_ to do this?” Zayn asks, his voice rising somewhat. “I didn’t have a _choice_!”

Harry shifts, turning his head to lay with his cheek on Louis’ thigh, murmuring Louis’ name, but he doesn’t wake. “Except you did,” Louis says, and he knows it’s hard, he knows it’s cruel, but he can’t help it. He has never been one to deal with loss well, especially not loss of this level; it’s like no matter what happens in his life, no matter how long he lives, he can’t seem to unlock the secret to keep people from leaving.

“I get it, Zayn,” he says. “I really do. You have to do what’s best for you, what’s best for your family. But don’t think we aren’t going to feel some way about that. We’re your friends; what you do affects _us_ , even here. And you’re…you’re _leaving_ and you aren’t coming back, just like that, like we don’t even matter.” Louis takes a deep breath and it’s all sharp pain, just like a stake to the heart. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time and wanted to never feel this way again, but even vampires don’t always get what they want. _You’re breaking my boys’ hearts,_ he thinks, _and worst of all, you’re breaking mine, too._

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says and this time, his voice is quiet as ash.

Louis doesn’t say anything to that. He’s said all he needs to say. He leans down to touch Harry’s cheek, stroking the bridge of his nose. He stirs, frowning in his sleep. “Hm?” he asks dreamily, raising his eyebrows. He doesn’t open his eyes.

“It’s time for bed, darling. Come on.” With some slight maneuvering, he manages to pick Harry up, though he is warm and boneless and offers no help whatsoever. He doesn’t look back at Zayn; he only crosses the clearing to tell Niall and Liam he’s going to take Harry in, and to wish Niall a happy birthday. He really means it, too. He’s glad he’s alive, that he exists and they orbit each other in this particular galaxy.

After all, lifelong friends are kind of hard to come by when you’re immortal.

* * *

The next morning—if he can call it that, since it’s nearly lunchtime—Harry wakes up feeling like _he’s_ the dead one. With eyes half-shut still, he kisses the backs of Louis’ hands, unwinding his arms from around him as he slips out of bed. He slumps into the kitchen, where Zayn already has the kettle on.

Harry squints at him. “What’re you doing awake?”

Though Louis now wears the crown ( _ha_ ), Zayn was once the reigning king of their household as least likely to be up and awake before the afternoon. It was a miracle he ever managed to hold even a part-time job with them.

Zayn gestures to a mug on the counter. “I made you tea.”

“Cheers.” Harry gulps it gratefully, using just a pinch of magic to cool it. He swipes a hand over his face, using another pinch of magic to wake himself up, to clear the cobwebs from his eyes and his mind, to brush his teeth without actually going to the trouble of doing it in the loo. Most of the time he does it just because it’s habit, but with magic, he really doesn’t have to do anything the regular way.

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you. I don’t know what Louis told you—”

Harry frowns, lowering the mug. “What are you on about?”

Zayn stares at him. “You didn’t—he didn’t say anything last night?”

“He put me to bed, I was exhausted. Why?”

“Oh. Well…he and I were talking last night, and I…”

A flash of cold goes sweeping through Harry’s chest. He’s having terrible flashbacks to another time, a time months ago during the stillness of summer when Zayn sat down with him in the woods to tell him he had to go. _He’s got that face again_ , Harry thinks, his heart hammering. _Something’s wrong._ He’s never been clairvoyant, but even he can see when something bad is about to happen.

“Don’t,” he blurts out. “Please, don’t.”

“Harry—”

“I’m not joking, Zayn, _don’t_. Whatever you have to say, it can wait. You’re going to be here for the next _two weeks_. Don’t start it like this.”

“Louis got cross with me for not wanting to say something. He said he was going to tell you.”

Harry nods, tracing the edge of his mug with his thumb. He forgot to take his rings off last night and they feel too tight. “Let him, then. Just don’t _you_ say anything, not right now.”

“I’m sorry, Haz.”

“Stop! Right now, I’m serious.” Harry takes a deep breath, setting his mug down. “I’m gonna make breakfast. Okay? We’re done talking about this.”

Zayn nods. He sets his own mug down and rolls up the sleeves of his sweater. “Eggs?” he asks, going to the refrigerator, and it’s just like old times so much that it hurts, right under Harry’s ribs. Still, he puts on his best smile and nods, because that’s what he does. He muddles on through.

They make a good old-fashioned English breakfast, and Liam appears at the table, scaring both of them. Zayn laughs incredulously, but Harry is not amused, especially since he dropped his tea and broke his mug. He cleans up the floor and fixes the mug with a few flicks and twirls of his fingers, but _still_. “You know, just because you know you’re a ghost now doesn’t mean you can’t use doorways like regular people.”

“Says you. You and Louis go zipping around all the time.”

“That’s _different_. We don’t scare people.”

“Harry, I’m a _ghost_. It’s sort of my job.”

Niall slumps in, hair tousled in a mess, yawning widely. “Smelled food,” he says by way of greeting.

Zayn grins. “Morning, old man.”

“Too early. Also, still not old enough for that shit.” He slouches down into a chair, grabbing everything and pulling it toward him to dump on his plate. “Haz, what was in those cupcakes?”

 “Uh. Why?”

“I slept like the dead.”

Liam frowns as he takes a bite of toast. “I object to that.”

“Piss off.” Niall stretches, his t-shirt raising over the waistband of his pants. There’s a piece of egg on his chin. “I’m serious, though. That was some good sleep. No dreams, just…” He mimes being asleep, snoring loudly. “Was nice.”

“Oh, you know.” Harry shrugs, sipping his tea. “Faith, trust, pixie dust.”

“Very funny.”

Harry glances at the calendar on the wall. There’s a red scribble four days on, where the full moon is scheduled to rise. So far, it’s going well, but the question now is if the magic will hold until then.

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Liam asks.

“Today we are going to do some _work_ , Liam. Zayn is going to paint mine and Louis’ room, since it’s one of the only ones without a nice mural. While he’s doing that, we’re going to try and fix that upstairs bedroom.”

“‘Try’ being the keyword here,” Niall says. “None of us known a damn thing about construction.”  

“That’s what magic’s for.”

As it turns out, that is _not_ what magic is for. Several hours on, they have done absolutely nothing but pull up some floorboards, resulting only in Niall’s fingers full of splinters and Liam’s knee scraped from tripping over a nail sticking up out of the floor. Harry lays on the good part, ear pressed to the wood.

“Why?” he asks. “Why won’t you talk to me, house? Tell me what you _need_.”

“It needs to be torn apart, this whole room,” Louis says from beside the doorway where he’s sitting, head leaning back against the wall. Harry woke him so Zayn could paint their room and so far, he’s done nothing but watch them with a vaguely amused look on his face. He’s barefoot, which worries Harry in this particular deathtrap of a room, but his feet are cute so that’s something at least.

“Shhh, don’t listen to him,” Harry says, his palms flat on the floor as though he’s covering its ears. “I know I can help you. You just have to tell me how.”

“Here’s how,” Louis says. “We call someone to do it for us. Problem solved.” He pulls out his phone, opening up the browser. “All right, workers in our area who can do something like this…”

“No,” Harry complains, raising one hand; Louis’ phone goes zooming into it. “That is _not_ what we’re going to do. This is a team-building exercise, Lou. We’re _bonding_.”

“We’re failing! Spectacularly, I might add.”

“Well, at least we’re doing something spectacular,” Liam says.

Harry rolls over, sitting up. “Listen. Every board in this house began its life as a tree somewhere, before it was cut down for lumber. I can reach it, I know I can. We’re _connected_.”

“Okay,” Louis says, holding his hands up. “I believe in you.”

“Yeah, me too,” Niall says.

“Sure,” Liam says, laying down on the floor. He waves a hand in the air. “Do your witchy thing.”

“I will, Liam.” Harry gets up, calling in a piece of chalk. On the floor, he draws a wide circle, three feet across. Louis watches him curiously and Niall scoots a bit closer to see what he’s up to.

He draws a star inside, making sure all of its points are connected to the circle. Then he kneels in the very center, careful not to smudge any of the lines. He places his right palm flat against the floor and as he does, a blue light springs up around the circle, closing him off from the others.

Niall lets out a noise and Liam sits up, paying attention now. Louis inches closer, sitting with his legs crossed.

He leaves his hand where it is, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. It all comes down to science, to particles and molecules. He separates the wood from what it’s become now, floorboards, seeking out the parts of it that were something older, something alive. There’s not a lot left of that part of it, but it exists all the same. Harry connects a thread of magic to that part of the wood, to its memories of being a tree, and he pulls.

When he comes back to himself, he looks up. “Okay, I know what to do,” he says. “I’ve got to go into the wood and separate it from the rot. Then it should be okay again.”

“You can do that?” Liam asks.

“Mate, he can do _loads_ ,” Niall says. “He’s brilliant.”

Harry sits cross-legged in the middle of the pentacle he’s drawn on the floor, his palms down to the floor. He can see every bit of the wood, can see all the dark parts of it where it’s gone bad from termites and age. He reaches into it with his energy, healing it like he would any scrape or burn.

It takes him three Britney Spears songs, as she's spinning on the record player downstairs, whether Zayn likes it or not. Finally, he’s done, the wood healed throughout the room and shining a little. He also convinces the termites to leave and find somewhere else to live. They agree but only because they’re sick of the type of wood in there.

“All right, see if it’s steady now,” he says, pointing to the areas of the floor where it was rotted. “Liam, go jump on it."

“Me? Why me?"

“Because if I messed up, you can just go all ghosty and fall through the floor.”

“Yeah, and who knows what’s down there?”

“It’s just a wall and the laundry room. I’m sure you won’t get stuck,” Louis says. He gets up and steers Liam over to the area. “Go ahead. Just watch out for the chandelier on the floor if you do go through.”

“That's comforting. All right, here we go.” Liam takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and jumps. He lands solidly on the floor. They erupt in cheers and claps while he looks around, surprised and grinning.

Harry erases the star from his circle in the reverse order that he drew it. The light around it turns white before disappearing as he wipes the circle away.

Zayn is in and out of their room all day, paint on his clothes and smeared on his forehead. He won’t let them see what he’s painting, but the drips on him are blue and black, so Harry has to assume it’s something good. Harry plays Britney Spears’ entire discography on his record player as he and Louis clean up, tearing down the leprechaun decorations from the night before. Someone blew out the candles the night before, but now before they spilled wax all over everything, like the multi-colored mess in his workshop down in the cellar. He likes it—and Louis agrees with him. They agree to leave them, just to live up to the hype of their spooky house. Halloween is in a month and a half; they may as well.

That night, after Zayn has changed and scrubbed the paint off his face and out of his hair, the five of them go down to the pub in town for dinner and drinks. Now that Liam knows he dead, however, it seems there’s somewhat of a problem with people seeing him. He just doesn’t seem to exist for them, which is so ridiculous to Harry, seeing as it’s never been a problem before. Louis can hardly contain himself, biting his lip hard to keep from laughing as Liam waves his hands in front of the bartender’s face.

“Aw, man,” Liam says, as they take seats at a table in the corner. “How am I meant to do anything now?”

“I think we can fix it,” Harry says, stealing a couple of Niall’s chips. “I think what we’ll need to do is just learn how to focus your energy. Or, better yet, pull that anchor out of Lou—somehow—and put it in you. Somehow.”

“You’ve lost me, again,” Liam says, taking a few of Niall’s chips, too. It takes a few tries, his hand going through the paper and the table, a frown taking up his face.

“Harry does that,” Louis says, smiling as he brings his beer up to his mouth, “him and his academia.”

“I mean, it’s probably possible. But I don’t know for sure until we try!” He reaches for more of Niall’s chips, but Niall jerks them away from him, sticking his tongue out. “I’ll have to ask my mum,” he says, returning his attention to his own food, a soup and some bread. “She knows all that stuff. It’s gonna be weird having to explain it as a theoretical, though.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well, I can’t just tell my mum I need to know for my ghost friend, especially not after asking about a wolfsbane potion. And telling my sister I’m dating a vampire.”

Louis chokes a little bit, setting his glass down quickly. “You told Gemma?”

Harry twists, turning to look at him with sudden alarm. “Oh no, was that not on?”

“It’s fine, just…” Rather than being annoyed, Louis looks, if anything, nervous. “How’d she take it?”

“Surprisingly well. I mean, once I explained to her that you’re not some evil soulless monster.”

Louis’ face lights with relief as he sits back in his chair.

“Most of the time,” Niall adds and he winces when Louis nudges him a little hard under the table.

“Thing is, I’m not sure whether or not she’s told my mum. I haven’t had a call yet, so I’m guessing she hasn’t. We’ll cross that bridge once we get to it, though, yeah?”

They spend a few hours at the pub, Niall playing snooker against Zayn on Liam’s behalf since he doesn’t want anyone to notice a cue holding itself and knocking around balls—when he says as much, Louis has to excuse himself, partly to go laugh hysterically outside, and partly to smoke.

When they get back to the house, Harry has to head to bed, as he has work in the morning, but the very thought of sleeping in their room with the paint smell is enough to give him a throbbing headache. “Guess we’re sofa surfing tonight,” he says, pointing at it wearily.

“Yeah, right. Look around you, darling.” Niall, Liam, and Zayn have started a drinking game that involves FIFA, somehow, and Harry can just picture it in the morning: bottles and cups everywhere, them slumped on various pieces of furniture. Harry did the uni thing when he was seventeen, eighteen, but now he’s over it. He has a job, a live-in boyfriend, and a supernatural identity to protect, he can’t drink like that anymore.

He flops down on the sofa, an arm over his eyes. “Tomorrow’s going to be murder, I just know it. Watch, because I’ll have not gotten any sleep, there will be cows giving birth all across the county. I’ll have to help because everyone will be ill, probably, and it’ll be _horrible_. I mean, I love babies, even cow babies, but not if I have to be up to my elbows in placenta all day on no sleep.”

Liam makes a face. “All I heard just now was ‘up to my elbows in placenta’ so could you two maybe take your pillowtalk somewhere else?”

Harry frowns. “This is _my_ house.”

As if sensing his words, the house groans upstairs, the eves creaking. Louis looks up at the sound, tapping one finger against his chin. “Y’know, I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“Can you summon our mattress somewhere?”

“Sure, where?”

Louis smirks.

* * *

 

“Okay,” Harry says, the chilly night breeze blowing through his hair. “This was a wonderful idea.”

Using a combination of magic and Louis’ strength as a vampire, they got their mattress up to the roof, their blankets spilling over as the two of them lay back with a front row seat to the stars. It’s one of the clearest nights in a long time, the moon almost full, but not so bright that it would bother him. The wind stirs his hair and he can taste autumn, if he really concentrates; he can hear the whispers of the natural world below them, the whispers of change, the shifting of the world as life moves on around them.

“You shouldn’t be out here with me, though,” Harry says, looking at Louis. He’s fiddling with his hair, trying to get some of his fringe to lay flat. It’s longer now, almost down to his chin. He wonders if it’s all the blood drinking that’s making it grow and he smiles at the thought. “What if you fall asleep?”

“I won’t.”

“You always fall asleep when we cuddle.”

Louis holds up his wrist, showing him. He’s wearing a watch that belongs to Liam. “I’ve set the alarm. And my phone’s alarm as well. I’m solid, baby, all right? Don’t worry about me. Now, you get to sleep. How else can you properly play with kittens tomorrow if you’re too sleepy?”

“I have the best job in the world.”

“Mm-hm. Go to sleep.”

Harry yawns as he lays back, scooting around to make himself comfortable. Louis waits until he’s done before wrapping his arms around him, pressing soft kisses to his shoulders and the top of his spine.

Harry sighs, closing his eyes. “I should be down there.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I shouldn’t be making such a fuss over work.”

“Harry, you’ve had this job for almost the last year. They all understand.”

“I know, but in the past, I would’ve called out. I would have been down there with them.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think they expect that from you now. It’s terrible to say so, but every now and again we do have to do the truly horrible, responsible thing. They aren’t going to begrudge you that, and if they do, I will bite them.”

“I was just thinking about all of this. We never go out anymore, I work loads, we haven’t been to London since Liam moved in.” Harry takes a breath, but keeps his eyes closed. “You’re not bored, are you? With all this, with me?”

“ _Bored_ with you?” Louis laughs. “All right, that’s it, it’s bedtime. Go on, drift off. You’re officially overtired.”

“I am _not_. I’m serious!”

“Are those three making you think you’re boring because you’re not doing shots on the sofa and playing FIFA? Harry, come on.” His voice is fondly admonishing and Harry feels a little silly, blushing in the dark. “Don’t listen to them. Literally ever. They never know what they’re talking about.”

“It’s not about them, it’s about you.”

“Me?”

“You’ve lived this incredible, very full life and then there’s me, working at a desk in the country, seeing to…chickens and sheep! I just…I understand if maybe you feel restless here.”

“Harry, you really need to get some sleep, because you are losing it.”

“Am not!”

“I’m serious, I’m worried about you. You’ve been working much too hard lately on everyone else’s life except your own.”

“Louis.”

“You know what you need? A holiday. Let me take care of you,” Louis says, and Harry is sure it’s meant to be a mockery of his own voice. He scowls, digging an elbow into Louis’ ribs. Louis just laughs. “Seriously, though. How could you ever think I’d be bored? You’re not boring, Harry. Every day is a new adventure with you. Every time you wake me up to tell me how many animals you saw at work, or to ask if I want to go pick flowers or watch birds or for a walk that will end with me ravishing you in a vegetable patch. It’s never boring.”

“You’re ridiculous. I would never disrespect vegetables like that.”

Louis grins. “I would. You say you understand if I’m restless, but it’s not like that at all. Having to be in hiding for almost your entire life, not feeling safe—it’s exhausting. It’s why I feel so old sometimes, because it just strikes me how long I’ve been running. I don’t want to do that anymore. This is the only place I’ve found rest in hundreds of years, Harry, one of the only few places I’ve been able to just stop in my whole life. Do you get how wonderful that is? How you make it that way for me?” Louis scoffs, laughing. “ _Boring_. Honestly.”

He rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder. “Besides. Aren’t you the one always saying the past is there for a reason? It’s what we do now that makes a difference.”

“Well, what I’m doing now is _not_ being cool and hanging out with them.”

“The thing about you, Harry, which I love—one of many—is that you never compromise who you are, you’re always very honest about it up front. Of course you’re not going to be downstairs with them, because that’s who you _were_ , but it’s not who you are now. It’s not who you have to be now. You know? And you can still do things like that. We will still do things like that because with our group of lads, it’s inevitable. But right now, you’re doing what you need to do and they know it, too, because they know _you_. So fuck all that, okay? You’re cool, the coolest witch in the world. You always have been.”

“Thanks.” Harry shifts, lifting his head to stop lying on a part of his hair. “I still feel like a prick, though.”

“Why?”

“Because of Zayn. We should be spending time together.”

Louis laughs. “Zayn’ll be here for another week and a half. It’s not like he’s going to disappear in the night.”

There’s a long silence following those words, filled with what they both already know, but haven’t said. The humor goes vanishing, puffed out like a candle’s flame, now only smoke on its way to join the stars. It’s filled with the hard truth of what they know, that people make choices and how sometimes, from where you’re standing, all it looks like is the wrong one.

“Harry, about Zayn—”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“He was going to tell me.”

“Going to?”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t let him. Said he talked to you, and you were on him about it.”

“Yes, I was.” Louis kisses Harry’s shoulder. Harry wonders if he even knows he’s doing it sometimes. “I saw his aura. It’s different now.”

Harry nods. He’d seen it, too, the way it had been shaped, the new colors, the way they moved. They suggested a struggle, but a decision had been made. He could see it in the way his aura was fixed, like a butterfly to a board. Pinned. He was sticking with that choice and even his aura was compensating for it, advertising that this was him now, _this_ was who he had chosen to be—and nobody could sway him.

“I…I don’t let people into my life lightly,” Louis is saying. “They have to earn it. I let him past those fences because I knew how much you loved him. And to just…disregard all of that, all of our history.” He backtracks a second later. “Well, not disregard it, because who knows? He could very well have given it some deep thought. But to measure it— _us_ —up against Atlantis and being a prince, only to find they just weren’t of equal worth to him? That stings.”

“Are you angry?” Harry asks softly.

“Yeah. How can I not be?” There’s a pause. “Aren’t you?”

“I…” How can he not be? But how can he be? “I don’t know. No. I don’t think so.”

“Okay.” Louis sounds kind of amused, but Harry isn’t sure why, not just then, not when the feeling of Louis breathing behind him is putting him to sleep.

They lay there for a while longer but Harry must fall asleep because the next thing he knows, something is beeping right next to his ear. He shoves it away, there’s a groaning noise, and then the beeping stops. He falls back to sleep.

What wakes him next is the light. He opens his eyes a tiny crack. The sun has risen over the countryside, the distant fields and tiny houses with smoke puffing out of their chimneys all bathed in gold. Harry stretches languidly, rolling his neck and shoulders.

“Morning, petal.” A hand enters Harry’s narrow, sleepy field of vision. “Made you coffee already. Niall’s up, doing breakfast, but he’s still drunk so I should probably go down and supervise. Zayn and Liam are passed out on the sofa.”

“Mm, thanks.” Harry sips the coffee, snuggling back down in contentment.

“You think you’re so sneaky, aren’t you? Looks like I set all those alarms for nothing.” He snorts. “Especially since I slept through them anyway.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“The sun! You’ve done one of your illusions again. Daybreak, this time. It’s quite nice.” There’s a sipping sound from beside Harry. “You can see almost all of Gloomingshire from here. Greater or otherwise.”

Harry’s eyes widen. He sits up so quickly, he spills some of his coffee. “Louis!” he shouts.

Louis looks up at him. His hair is sticking up in places and he’s got his own mug halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“I didn’t cast a spell! That’s not an illusion.”

“You – wait, what?"

"I didn't cast a spell, I fell asleep. That's the sun."

He narrows his eyes. “You’re not having me on, are you?”

Harry shakes his head quickly.

“Then…but that doesn't make any sense...” He’s framed by golden light as the sun continue to rise, every inch of him glowing—and not bursting into flames. Louis looks down at himself, at his arms where he’s pushed the sleeves of his white shirt up, at the backs of his hands as his knuckles catch the shadows there. “I’m…this is real?” He looks up at Harry. “How is this possible?”

"I..." Harry shakes his head. He has no idea. It's only when the sun spills over Louis that it strikes him. "I think it’s my blood. Slowly, you've been getting some of my abilities. You’ve been drinking so much of it lately, it’s been affecting you. Because I can be out in the sunlight, you can, too. Because I’m alive…”

“I can pretend to be. Wow. I don't even know how to react to this, oh my god.”

"Maybe give it a look?" Harry suggests. "For old times' sake?"

Louis lets out a monumental sigh. He turns to face the east, sitting with his legs crossed, wiggling his toes as he tilts his head back, closing his eyes to drink in the sun. It lights up the whole of his face and if Harry wasn’t a witch, right here is where he would believe in magic, just by seeing the look on his face. He’s so happy, so bright and alive.

Harry summons his camera from inside. He snaps a few pictures, unable to look away. Then, setting his camera aside, he sits beside Louis, their hands touching, his head on his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t you check on Niall?”

“That’s what smoke detectors are for. He’ll be all right.” Louis threads their fingers together. “So. Still think you’re too boring?” Louis asks softly.

Harry shakes his head. “How’s it feel?”

“Warm. So warm.” His lips tilt up. “Feels a bit like you, to be honest.”

Harry laughs. “What?”

“This, right here. This is what it feels like to be near you, to taste you. The feel of the sun on your skin, warming you all over. The sound of birds chirping and fluttering as the world wakes up. The smell of grass and flowers, rain and the clearness of the air. That first breath you take of morning.” He takes it then, letting it out with an _ahhh_. “The taste of tea and sugar, the last cobwebs of sleep fading away, replaced by the clarity that you’ve made it through another day, another night, and you have the whole potential for something good laid out before you.”

He opens his eyes. A flock of birds goes across the sky in front of them, silhouetted by the sun. Louis watches them like he’s never seen anything like it, like the world is new. It makes Harry fall in love with him all over again.

When he turns to look at Harry, his eyes are a golden blue, the ocean draped in the gold swaths of a blazing horizon. Harry touches his cheek, letting his fingers linger in the light. When Louis smiles, he can see his fangs. He shivers.

Louis holds Harry’s hand in place. He licks his lips. “Marry me.”

“Already did.”

Louis grins, reaching out to curl a hand around the back of Harry’s neck. “Marry me again.”

Harry laughs breathlessly, letting himself be drawn in for a kiss. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Of course, Harry is late for work—again.

* * *

The next week is, despite Harry’s worries, filled with revisiting old haunts, a phrase that has Liam in stitches. After fixing up the floorboards (and nailing down the ones Niall tore up), they finally have a guest room, as Liam has already settled in Harry’s old room. While they’re waiting for Zayn to finish painting, they move all of Harry’s leftover things into the guest room, so Liam finally has a room to himself without any enchanted books—though that invisible notepad is still missing.

When they’re not at the house, moving things around or rinsing off paintbrushes in the sink, they’re driving around, stopping in their favorite places to eat, or traipsing around the woods. On the night of the full moon, Niall discovers himself to be completely calm, fully aware, and for the first time in his life, pain-free. He jumps around Harry, tackling him to the ground, licking his face and pawing at him until Louis does the same to him, the two of them rolling around in the grass. That night, they all go running through the woods like they used to, now with Liam, and the five of them howl at the moon and splash through the creeks, climbing trees and looking for berries. The next nights, Niall simply naps in the house, a giant overgrown dog to anyone none the wiser. 

The day before Zayn’s last day Harry has it off from work and they go up to London like they used to. They spend the whole day out and about, with Louis wearing only a hoodie and sunglasses to protect himself, and it’s magic. They play footie in the morning, Harry and Louis versus Liam and Zayn, with Niall as goalkeeper. Harry has never been his best at football; he’s more of a Quidditch man, himself, but when Louis gets a breakaway and sets him up, he can’t help but go for it. By some miracle, it goes flying past Niall and hits the corner of the net, and Louis sweeps him up in his arms and carries him halfway down the field, cheering like they’ve just won the World Cup.

After, they have breakfast and visit a few comic book and record stores. Niall’s first paycheck from his new gig hasn’t arrived yet, so Louis pays for everything, shrugging it off when anyone says anything. Harry buys something of his own when Louis isn’t paying attention, talking shoes with Niall instead, and presents it to him as they’re headed to lunch.

“What’s this?” Louis asks as they’re standing on a corner, traffic zipping by. Liam and Zayn are peering into a nearby shop window while Niall fiddles with the bags he’s carrying, putting the smaller of them into the larger ones.

“A surprise.”

“Did you buy this just now?”

Harry nods.

“You sneaky minx.” Harry laughs, biting his lip as Louis opens the box. He pulls out a scarf. It’s black, with a modest fringe at the bottom, a sky blue stripe down the center of it. “Harry, this is really nice. But how much did this cost?” He rubs a hand over it. “This feels like real wool and silk.” 

“Don’t worry about that. There’s gloves, too.”

Louis peers inside the box. It’s then that he notices the monogram on one side of the scarf, the monogram on the gloves, and on the tissue paper inside. The look on his face is one Harry wants to remember for the rest of his life.

“Get it?” Harry asks eagerly.

“Please tell me you did not just spend something like five hundred pounds just to make a _joke_.”

Harry laughs, clapping his hands together. “It’s _funny_!”

“What’d he buy?” Niall asks, looking over. He starts laughing too, and Louis stands there, lips pressed together, holding the box as they laugh and laugh.

“What?” Liam asks. “What’s so funny?’

Zayn leans over to fill him in.

“Louis V for _my_ Louis V,” Harry says, planting a kiss on Louis’ cheek. “Don’t be mad.”

“You’re not allowed to buy me anything ever again.” He whips the scarf out of the box and winds it around his neck. “And for the record, I’m not wearing this because I like it, but because it’s cold. So there.”

“Don’t forget the gloves,” Harry reminds him and Louis glares at him.

“What? It’s only okay when you buy me things?”

“Yes. That is exactly okay.”

Harry sticks his tongue out at Louis, dancing away from him when Louis tries to grab him around the waist. Begrudgingly, he pulls the gloves on, throwing the box in a bin that they pass on the way to their lunchtime destination. Louis keeps a frown on whenever Harry mentions it, but once or twice he catches him admiring both the scarf and the gloves. That’s enough for Harry.

After lunch, they spend the afternoon at the British Museum. Harry spends most of his time taking pictures, as he hasn’t been there since taking a school trip when he was younger. He keeps his hair back with his white sunglasses, taking candids of all the lads: Louis, eyes crinkling with laughter as he talks to Niall; Liam frowning at an amphora in the Greek and Roman area; Zayn sketching a Mesopotamian statue; Niall pointing to a sign leading to the Wolfson Gallery. After a while, he just walks around, holding hands with Louis.

“How much of this is familiar to you?” he asks. They’re standing in front of the Rosetta Stone in its thick glass case while an enormous bust of Ramesses II looks on from further down the hall, stone eyes impassive but ever watchful.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do, though.”

“Let’s just say that, in the 20s, I attempted to dissuade a certain Egyptologist and a certain _lord_ from digging into a tomb in Egypt as it was not theirs to dig into. Of course, they did it anyway, but that’s old news.” Louis sends him a sly grin. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

“How much would your crown be worth nowadays, do you think?”

“Loads. Millions. But I’d rather not give it up.”

“You’d sell everything else but that?”

Louis nods. “Out of it all, that’s the only thing that holds a single bit of sentimental value. It’s the only thing I have left from when I was alive.” Louis walks on, looking down at his map. “Let’s go to the Medieval Europe Gallery next,” he says. “There’s a handful of things in there that I sold them.”

Harry raises his camera and takes a picture.

They end their day in the Living and Dying room, the Wellcome Trust Gallery. In the center of the room, a great stone figure stares ahead. A long glass case stretches throughout, and they approach. In it are capsules and pills lined up, over and over, all sorts of colors and sizes. Syringes gleam from within as well.

“Cradle to the Grave,” Louis reads. “Huh. The medications of an average English man and woman. Precisely as it says, cradle to the grave.”

“For an average one, yes. Not you.”

It strikes Harry, then, how long Louis has been alive. It’s _always_ striking him, always occurring to him just how long it’s been, but seeing the scope of this exhibit here makes him realize even more how he’s not average at all. How long would his stretch, if he had grown during a time when there _was_ medication? And what of the exhibit was something different? What if it was ‘Almost Made it to the Grave’ and it was every way he had been injured or nearly died, but hadn’t, because he can’t. 

Harry realizes it all at once. He’s going to die. He’s going to die, and Louis is still going to be there. And that’s it, right there, that underlying whisper that Harry has felt all this time. All his hesitance, all his pulling away during kisses and brief touches make sense now. All those little moments Harry brushed away because he didn’t want to address what was always there, what was lying in wait. All light casts a shadow, and he thought, maybe naively, that they could exist without it, that their relationship might be the one exception. But there’s never an exception. He knows this, knows the laws of nature. Some things just _are_ , others aren’t.

He looks down at the pills and thinks of them as people. ‘People I’ve Known’, by Louis Tomlinson. Each pill a person, and one of them Harry, just lost in a sea of others, all dead and gone now, Louis the only constant.

“How weird,” Louis says, as they walk around the room. Niall and Zayn trail behind them, while Liam follows at a much slower pace, closely examining every glass case, every placard.

“What?” Harry asks.

“This gallery. Us in it. Living and Dying.” He shrugs. “It’s us, innit? Except we’re Living and Already Dead.”

“Yeah.” Harry stares hard at the statue in the center of the room. How long has it been here, he wonders. What has it seen?

Louis frowns as he looks at Harry. “You all right? Your aura’s gone a bit fuzzy.”

Harry nods. “Just tired, I think.”

“You sure?”

Harry starts to nod again, but then he shakes his head. “No, wait. Have you ever thought about breaking up with me?”

Louis’ eyes widen dramatically. “What?”

“Have you ever thought about breaking up with me?”

“I—why would I?”

“Because I’m going to die someday. Because you’re going to outlive me.”

Louis runs a hand through his hair. “ _Jesus_ , Harry, what sort of thing is that to say?”

“We _are_ in the Living and Dying room. Just answer the question and please, be honest.”

Louis scowls. “No.”

“No, you won’t answer the question or no, you haven’t thought about it?” Harry shakes his head, not waiting for the answer. “Listen, I understand. It’d be easier, right? You can’t say you haven’t thought about it.”

He folds his arms across his chest defiantly. “Can’t I?”

“It would! You could protect both of us by ending it now. That way, it wouldn’t hurt later when we had to say goodbye. You’ve been through that before, but this time you’re prepared, you know what’s coming, and you could stop it right in its tracks. Tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“Fine,” Louis says. “I thought about it. But just for a moment, before I realized that was the stupidest, most foolish thing I could ever possibly do.”

Harry licks his lips. “Why?”

“I’m in this for life now, remember? My life and yours. _We_ are in this.”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean you won’t keep trying to save me, or whatever it is that you do.”

“Except you’re the one who told me I can’t do that anymore. It doesn’t _work_ , Harry, it’s not a plan with loads of longevity. When does that cycle of self-sacrifice end? When do we stop hurting each other, thinking we’re doing what’s best for the other?”

“Louis—”

“No, hang on. You’ve brought this up, now I have to finish it. _Don’t_ ,” he says fiercely, and that’s to Niall, who stepped forward to intervene, to break it up, though they’re not even arguing, not properly. He holds a hand up, waving the three of them away. “Give us a second. Wait outside.”

They do as he says immediately, without even trying to argue. Zayn looks back just once, but he follows the others dutifully out. Harry watches them go with a degree of fascination. And Louis doesn’t consider himself a leader, doesn’t think he leads their household every day. _It’s amazing what we don’t know about ourselves,_ Harry thinks.

Only when they’re gone does Louis return his gaze. “All right, listen.” Louis’ aura gleams so brightly that, for a moment, Harry almost has to look away. It’s like facing down the moon as it tries to outshine you, and of course there’s no hope you’ll win. “You put a daisy ring on my finger and that means we’re married and that means we compromise and support each other. I thought about it, yeah. I strongly considered it. But it wouldn’t solve anything. Don’t you get it? I wouldn’t be able to, even if I wanted to.”

“What do you mean?”

“ _I_ _can’t walk away_ ,” Louis says plaintively, and there’s so _much_ in his voice, so much feeling and life, that Harry shakes a little. “It’s not a possibility any longer. Maybe it never was.”

He takes a deep breath. “The truth of it is that it would hurt more to say goodbye to you now, than it would to live as much a life with you as I can until it’s over.” He shrugs. “At least then I can say that I did it. That I knew you, had you, loved you. That would be good enough for me.”

“Okay.” Harry swipes a finger under his eyes, not even aware his eyes had welled until now. “Okay. That’s—okay.”

Louis relaxes a little, his lips twitching. “Is that all you can say?”

“Sorry, my boyfriend just declared his love for me in a rather Byronic outburst in the British Museum. Excuse me if I’m a little lost for words.”

Louis laughs, shaking his head. “You are impossible, you know that?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s spouse.”

Harry is still so overwhelmed for a moment that he has no idea what he’s on about. “What?”

“Your nature-spouse went all Byron here. And I resent that comparison, by the way.” He smiles, his eyes lighting up. “He was a twat.”

“Let me guess—you knew him.”

“Top marks.” He crooks a finger at Harry. “Come here.”

Harry goes into his arms, pressing their cheeks together.

"What on  _earth_ , Harry," he whispers.

"Just checking in," he says, shrugging. "Making sure we're on the same page. With Zayn going, who knows?"

"Who  _knows_? Fuck, Harry, I'm not him. I don’t care anymore,” Louis says softly, “I did once about the time, about the years, but I don’t anymore. I just want to love you. It'll be a privilege just for that much in whatever time we have. Is that okay?”

“Yes.” Harry meets Louis’ mouth, the two of them seeking and finding each other as easily as ever. “Always every time yes.”

When they break apart for just a moment, Louis laughs a little. “You had me worried there, darling. Your aura went this funny color. Almost…devoid of color, but it wasn’t even black, it was something else.”

“I’d never really considered it before, the age thing. This place just struck me.”

“Well, let’s get out of here then, all right?” Louis looks around, making a face. “I, for one, don’t want to think about death or dying any longer.”

 _That makes two of us,_ Harry thinks.

They take the stairs down and go back out into the light.

* * *

They spend Zayn's last day at home. Evidently he told Niall while they were at the British Museum, waiting for Harry and Louis to finish up their discussion, and Niall has been in a mood ever since. Heartbreak tends to do that to a person. 

While he's at work, Zayn finishes their mural in the middle of the afternoon, coming out of their room all spattered with paint, some of it yellow and white this time. “Right,” he says, “I’ve finished.” He grabs a cigarette from his pack on the table and Harry immediately encases him in a blue bubble. He makes a face but lights it anyway.

“Can we see?” Louis asks, his voice a little scratchy from sleeping on the sofa.

Zayn shakes his head. “It needs to dry.”

Louis nods, reaching his hand out to Zayn. He shakes it impatiently and Zayn hands the cigarette over. Harry frowns, but encloses Louis in a bubble, too. “This furniture is a hundred years old,” is all he’ll say to Louis’ questioning eyebrow. Louis just French-inhales his smoke and makes faces, pretending to be a mime in his bubble.

Niall comes home as they’re arguing over what pizza to order, Liam hanging upside down, nearly-transparent from the newly-repaired chandelier. He’s wearing his all black work clothes and when he gets in, he immediately takes his slacks off in the entryway, flinging his button-down off as well, so he’s just in a sleeveless singlet and his pants. They’re patterned with rainbows, each ending in a pot of gold. Harry bought them for him last Christmas.

“Ahhhh,” he groans, flopping down in the armchair. “I want extra cheese.”

“I take it you’re not enjoying yourself at this new job,” Harry says.

Niall shushes him. “It’s quiet time now.” He places a pillow over his face and that’s it, he’s dead to the world. They snicker, but try to be as quiet as they can when they put the order in. Louis promptly falls back asleep as well.

Harry goes to the kitchen to see what they have to drink, and Zayn trails after him. “So, about tomorrow…” he starts.

“Yeah?” 

“I can’t come back. You know that, right?”

Harry stands up straight. Slowly, he closes the refrigerator. His stomach is twisting into knots, ones that not even Louis could untie. Feelings he hasn’t ever had to properly address are rising to the surface. “What happened?” he asks quietly.

“They gave me an ultimatum. Either I could live on land, or live down there. They don’t want me going between anymore.” He swallows, looking away. “I chose down there.”

“Did you know your aura’s different? We already knew.”

“ _That’s_ how Louis knew?” Zayn frowns, shaking his head. “Didn’t know he could do that.”

“It’s a fairly recent development.” Harry turns around, facing him. “So you’re going home, then.”

“Yeah. I’ve got to.”

“Except you don’t. You _didn’t_.”

“Harreh—”

“You have a room here, did you know that? Of course you know that, you’ve been sleeping in it the past two weeks. We only needed that room we fixed up because your room is still exactly the same. We left it for _you_. There was a life here for you that we were keeping and you didn’t even bother to call and tell us you didn’t want it anymore. You just carried on like everything was fine and only when you got here did you decide that _maybe_ it might be a good idea to tell us. Grand plan, Zayn.”

“I didn’t know what to do.”

“You could have come sooner. You could have left a message with the shell. We could have helped you, given you advice. That’s what friends are for!”

“But my family…they need me, too.”

“I know. And that’s why I get it, I really do. But you left us all out of the equation. Can you imagine how that feels for the rest of them?” Harry shakes his head, biting his lip. “I’ve known you for half my _life_. Can you imagine how it feels for me?”

"They didn't me to say anything, they didn't even want me to come back this time! They're closing our borders, they're worried about people finding out about us." He look away, shrugging. "They think you're all a threat to me somehow."

Secrecy, Harry thinks. All of this secrecy. It’s like the Council, always so zealous about who he sees and knows and whether or not they’re a _threat_. It’s driving him mad.

"But we're  _not_. Did you tell them that?" Did you even try?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "I'm sorry they put you in this position, but you can't just expect us all to be okay with it. You can't expect  _me_ to be okay with it." Even if he thinks it was their destiny to be friends, and even their destiny for Zayn to leave for good at some point, it still really fucking hurts in places even Harry didn't think it could hurt. 

He leaves Zayn standing at the sink, looking morose even in the sunlight with his eyes a glowing amber. Harry weaves through the sitting room to the sofa, climbing onto it, drawing his knees up beside Louis and making himself as small as possible.

He presses his face to Louis’ chest, exhaling a long, deep breath. Warmth blossoms from that spot and Louis shifts, his hand coming up to trail over Harry’s back, up to his shoulder and into his hair. He sighs awake, the air in the room changing as their energies meld.

His eyes crack open. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, his voice rusty. “You’re blue.”

“Huh?”

“Your aura. It’s gone dark blue.” He runs a hand through Harry’s curls. “What’s happened?”

“Zayn…is a _prick_.” He laughs for a second, but then his eyes burn and well and he has to bury his face in Louis’ chest again because he can’t believing he has to go through this again, but for _real_ this time. “Is it wrong that I’m angry?”

“No. You’re allowed to feel however you do.”

“I’m angry at me, for knowing this was going to happen but pretending it wasn’t.” His voice is muffled and he sniffs, wiping his eyes off on Louis’ shirt before looking up at him. “Like there was ever a chance he _wasn’t_ going to have to choose someday, what was I playing at?”

“It’s not your fault, Harry. You wanted to believe he’d always be here.” Louis shakes his head. “We all did.”

“People _always_ have to choose where they want to be, who they’re going to stand with, and I always knew where he’d go. He always talked a load of shit, but he’d do anything for his family. He’s always wanted them to be proud of him and he thinks this is the way.” Harry can’t help saying it, not even knowing Niall is most likely listening. “I knew where he’d go, but I always hoped he’d choose us. Why is it so easy for him to walk away?"

“I know, baby. I’m sorry.”

“I’m _mad_. I’m mad at him.”

“Of course you are. You wouldn’t be if you didn’t care about him.”

As Harry turns, adjusting himself on the sofa, he catches a glimpse of Niall in the armchair. He's awake, eyes opened the smallest fraction. He nods at Harry in complete understanding. Nobody likes to be left behind, and there's no other way for them to feel in this moment, not yet. Eventually they'll accept it and learn to move on, but right here, they are broken open. 

They nap on the sofa for a little while, sleeping off their feelings, but the doorbell ringing wakes them up. Niall is out of the armchair like a shot, getting the pizza and slipping the guy a fiver as a tip. Zayn and Liam come into the room and they all eat and watch telly and talk back and forth and laugh and it’s normal. It doesn’t feel normal, but they’re all trying so hard for it to be that it almost feels like it could be. Like Liam, believing himself alive, maybe the five of them with their combined energies and powers can pretend this isn’t the end of something great.

That night, the plan is to go to the beach and camp out so Zayn can leave from there in the morning. Around nine or so, they start to pack up their things. Zayn goes through his room for whatever he might want to take down with him, and Harry picks through the cellar, making up a basket of ingredients. Niall brings snacks, of course, and a few bottles of wine. Every now and again he clears his throat and Harry wonders if he's crying in there where they won't see him.

Harry goes into their room to grab his camera and finds Louis standing there. He’s wearing a black hoodie and tan skinnies rolled up past his ankles, his feet bare. His hands are in his pockets as he looks around the room. Their furniture is all covered in plastic, their things moved aside so Zayn could paint.

And what he painted them is a starry sky, across every wall and the ceiling, surrounding them. It’s blue at the bottom, near the floor, like the sun’s about to rise or maybe it just fell. It darkens to black along the tops of the walls and the room, and the rest is all stars, some distant tiny pinpricks, others nearer and vivid, the size of Harry’s hands. The crescent moon grins down like the Cheshire cat. The crescent moon has two forms, waxing and waning, and two meanings. When it’s waning, covered by darkness, it means an ending, something going from your life. When it’s waxing, it’s a symbol of growth, of change and creativity, of the approaching light of fullness. Looking at it, Harry feels a little comforted by that. The moon has always had his back.

Louis reaches over and takes Harry’s hand. “What do you think?” he asks.

“I love it.” It’s essentially their life, and Zayn captured that, knew that. Sometimes blue, sometimes dark, but always filled with stars, always draped in light, always with the promise of more amazing things to come.

As they’re leaving, Harry turns to find Zayn in the doorway. “So?” he asks, his voice unsure.

“It’s brilliant,” Louis says, moving past him into the hallway. “Absolutely. Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly. He stands right beside Zayn and all he can do is nod. He touches Zayn’s arm and that’s it, he moves past him as well, back out into the sitting room.

Niall holds his head out the window as they drive to the beach for what feels like the last time. He howls and, because that’s how it works, it starts all of them up as they listen to one of Harry’s Mariah Carey albums. Harry is sitting near a window, Louis in the middle beside them because he’s smaller, and he rolls it down, sticking his head outside to howl. The wind goes streaming through his hair and it makes his eyes water, but there’s such a feeling of being alive to it, of yelling as loud as he can, of laughing, of making himself known to the universe in the thrill of moving fast and watching the ocean go by beside them in parallel, waves crashing with the sound of their voices rising to the night sky. 

Liam and Niall build a fire on the beach while Louis watches, pointing out what they’re doing wrong, and they throw seashells at him, laughing. Zayn spreads out the blankets for them while Harry takes pictures of them all, the last time they’ll ever be together.

Once the fire is high, Niall gets out the food and drinks, passing things around. Harry throws a handful of herbs in the fire and they smoke and hiss, smelling strange and fragrant.

“What was that for?” Niall asks.

“Banishing negativity. Cleaning out our energy.”

“I like that,” Liam says, poking at the fire with a stick. “Kind of like a cleanse, innit?”

“That’s exactly what it is. Salt and smoke, two of the most cleansing things. And here we are.” He gestures to the beach and he meet Zayn’s gaze. Zayn just nods at him, and Harry smiles, but only a little. Things are different now, things have changed.

“Your aura just went lavender,” Louis says, scooting up next to him, burying his toes in the sand. “Everything okay?”

Harry nods. The sound of the waves and the moon overhead, Louis beside him in the sand, they're grounding him, keeping him connected. It's all going to be okay. “Yeah, you know, I really think it is.”

Somewhere in the middle of the night, someone starts with “remember that time” and they tell stories of each other, their favorite moments, the embarrassing things, the funny ones, the times that they shared in their year of knowing one another. It’s weird to Harry that it’s only been almost a year; it feels like they’ve shared ages together, all five of them, like they’ve been here since the beginning of it all. Maybe they always have without ever even knowing it. Spooky action at a distance. 

Harry isn’t sure when they all fall asleep, as he’s the first, but he wakes up with Louis snuggled up against his back, breathing against his curls. The sky is gray and cloudy, but the sun is coming up. He wiggles around so much that Louis wakes up too, making this little kitten-stretch noises as he shifts against Harry. Louis kisses the back of his neck as they sit up. Niall and Zayn look as though they’re holding hands, but Harry can’t see properly with their blanket in the way. Liam’s already awake, looking tired and especially gray, but he grins when he sees them.

“Morning.” He holds up a thermos. “Niall brought coffee.”

Harry nods, twisting around to face to Louis. “You okay?”

“Stings a bit,” Louis says, pulling his sleeves down over his hands and unrolling his jeans. Harry helps him pull his hood up and slide sunglasses on. It’s been a while since he fed last; Harry makes a mental note of how long his powers seem to last in Louis.

At the smell of the coffee, Niall wakes up, then Zayn. They drink and have nibbles for breakfast, watching the sun rise through the clouds. They don’t really talk much; everything that needed to be said was said the night before. Once it’s high in the sky, Zayn stands up, brushing sand off his clothes.

“Right,” he says. “Let’s do this right, okay? Because I don’t want to mess it up.”

Zayn goes to Liam first, hugging him and speaking to him in low tones. Then Louis; they both laugh for a bit at his shady new look before they hug and Zayn actually pulls off his shirt and joggers, leaving them on the sand. "You can have these," he says to Louis. "You were always stealing them anyway."

"Thanks," Louis says, rolling his eyes.

Then Niall, he hugs him and says something in his ear, cupping his face and patting it gently. “You’ll be okay,” Harry hears him say.

Then it’s his turn. Zayn hugs him and all of the memories come with him like the tide: the first time they met on the beach as lads, the thrill of his voice, the constant smell of water and salt that clings to him. All the hours spent talking and laughing, sneaking into public pools and all the scales he left behind, enough that Harry strung them all up on a string and gave them to him once. All the magic and the wonder, and all that'll be left are the memories. Maybe Harry can make something new, something better, out of them. 

“You’re my best mate,” Zayn says, his breath warm. He still smells like salt and the ocean, but more now. He belongs to it now, in a way he never did before. “And I love you. Maybe in another life, eh? I’m so sorry, you have to believe that. I'll miss you more'n anything. Take care of Remus for me, yeah?”

Harry nods. "Love you." He can’t really say anything else. It’s just like last time, for the last time.

“If you ever need me, just throw stones into the sea. I’ll hear you.” He kisses Harry’s cheek and then walks toward the waves.

"Hey," Niall shouts.

He turns back.

"Don't forget where you belong."

Zayn nods, swallowing hard, and then he turns to the ocean, throwing himself into the waves. Just like the tide, he’s gone.

They stay there for a while, their fire burnt down to ashes, just listening to the waves. Harry lays back in the sand, looking up at the sky. He watches the clouds move with the wind, watches them change shape and form. He wonders if the seashell Zayn gave him will still work or if the magic's gone now. 

Suddenly Louis’ face fills his vision as he leans over him. “Hey,” he says, a small, mischievous smile on his face. “Want to go on an adventure?”

Harry nods. Louis pulls him up and he sees the other two are already waiting. Slowly, Harry smiles. 

The adventure turns out to be walking a few miles down the beach to a more popular area where some people have brought their kids. There’s a tiny café and they go inside, the woman at the counter flashing them odd looks, particularly at Louis, as he leaves his hood up and sunglasses on even indoors, Zayn's clothes on the seat beside him. They get ice cream, eating it outside quickly before any seagulls notice them.

“Ice cream is cleansing, too,” Louis tells Harry.

Harry laughs. “You had _one_ bite. And you had to let it melt in your mouth first.”

He shrugs. “Semantics.” He looks at Liam. “Hey, you want to go see your crash site while we’re out and about? May as well pile on the emotions while we can.”

Liam thinks about it for a moment, tossing a seashell back and forth between his hands. “Nah,” he finally says, shaking his head. “Dunno if I’m ready for that. Let’s just go home.”

Louis smiles. “Home it is.” He takes Harry’s hand and they go walking back, Liam and Niall beside them.

* * *

They slam the car doors shut and Louis looks at Harry. “Guess this is yours now.”

“Guess so!” He looks it, making a face. “Might give it to Niall, though. It’s not really my style.”

Louis smiles at that. “Yeah? And what is?”

“Maybe a motorcycle.”

Louis laughs. “You would. The modern day broomstick, I take it?”

Harry grins, his eyes glimmering. “Something like that.”

Niall and Liam race to the door, Harry opening it for them with magic. The house feels a little different when they go inside, and Louis is sure he only feels it because Harry does, because he still has some of his powers in his blood. Harry throws open all the windows when they get inside, letting the curtains stir and sway with the wind. “I’ve got spells to do,” he says, shaking his head. “The house’s energy is unbalanced again."

“Can I take a shower, or will that unbalance your spells?” Niall asks. Harry throws a pillow at him and they laugh. “I’ve got work tonight,” Niall calls over his shoulder as he heads up the stairs. “And then it’s sleep time, _awoooo_.”

“If he keeps howling, I’m going to buy him a muzzle, I swear,” Louis says, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on. You think it’s cute.”

“More like annoying.” Still, Louis smiles a little, because it’s a good sign. Things will return to normal—or as normal as they ever get with them. Zayn'll do all right and they'll heal and it'll be okay. Even after everything, that's all Harry ever wanted. 

Liam throws himself onto the sofa and is instantly asleep. They watch him fade out as he snores until he disappears entirely. “So I guess he goes to that other place when he sleeps,” Louis says. “Huh.”

“I wonder if that’s where dreams are,” Harry says, tapping his chin. He doesn’t linger on it long, putting the kettle on in the kitchen. There will be time for study later; today is about them in their house. “Want some tea?”

“Is that even a real question?” The shower starts up and Louis can hear Niall singing upstairs. It sounds like The Spice Girls. He laughs, shaking his head.

“Lou, can you grab the post?” Harry calls from the kitchen. "I forgot to grab it."

Louis goes out and rummages in the mailbox, pulling out magazines and envelopes. He flips through them as he comes inside.  _Niall, Niall, Harry, junk, junk, mine, junk—_

He stops, slowly shutting the door behind him. In his hand is a black envelope, tied with a red ribbon. He recognizes it immediately and it feels like the entire floor is falling out beneath his feet, his stomach rushing up into his throat. He turns it over, but there’s no writing anywhere on the outside, not even a stamp. _They didn’t send this through the post_ , he thinks. He looks up, eyes darting to the open windows. _They know where I live._

He slides a nail under the fold and tears it open, slicing through the ribbon; he shakes his head at it. Those over-dramatic fucks.

There’s just a single slip of paper inside. On it, in fancy typeface, it says:

_The Vampire Court of London invites you to its annual Samhain ball_

Underneath it are the details, but Louis can taste metal in his mouth because this isn’t what it looks like at all. It’s not so much an invitation as it is a statement.

 _They found me._ “Fuck,” he says quietly.

Harry pokes his head out of the kitchen. “Anything good?”

“Bills, mostly,” Louis says quickly, shoving the invitation back in its envelopes. “Other than that, it’s mostly just a bunch of shit.”

As soon as Harry goes back into the kitchen, he tears the thing to shreds. He goes to the open window nearest the door and throws the handful of paper outside, where it goes spiraling off like snow into the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see, i warned about a cliffhanger but it's not an angsty one!! it's FINE you guys. 
> 
> also can you believe i wrote that bit about the white sunglasses before those pictures appeared??? spoooookyyyyyy
> 
> there's like 2 more after this probably
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](http://www.g-uttertrash.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> smiling cold sweat emoji!!!! that was wild huh. this was the sin chapter, my irish-catholic grandma was right, i'm going to hell


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